To those whom I Love
by MASHlover23
Summary: Hawkeye shares his most intimate thoughts and feelings with his former comrades in arms, while lying on his deathbed.
1. Radar

**Disclaimer: Don't own M*A*S*H - never will!**

 **Rated T for future graphic detail and language.**

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To the one whom I love,

How's life going for you in Iowa, now that all six of your children are gone? I hope that Patty is taking it okay.

Boy oh boy, do I ever remember the first time I drove out to the Ottumwa to visit with the O'Reilly clan. It was in May of 54', I think. You were a nervous as a turkey around Thanksgiving, because Patty was about to give birth to your first born child.

After all of the rotten things that happened over in Korea; you meeting Patty and starting a family with her almost made up for all of it.

It gave me indescribable joy that the first baby I delivered since stepping onto one-hundred percent, real American soil, was your son Henry.

I felt like I was walking on water the second I handed him to you and Patty. You were both crying crocodile sized tears of pure joy. When you took off your round glasses and wiped the tears away with the back of your hand; a distinct voice rang out as clear as day.

" _You are going to be one hell of a Dad, kiddo. I guess I don't have to come back and set you straight afterall."_

Everybody – including Henry – ceased to make any type of noise of a solid minute. As our eyes made silent contact with one another to confirm what we were all thinking, but dared not say. You confirmed all of our suspicions when you whispered in a barely audible tone, _"You won't have to, Colonel Blake."_

We agreed to never speak of that incidence to anybody – ever.

I broke a lot of promises in my time, but I can assure that I was true to my word with that one. Besides, can you imagine how people would have reacted if we went around blathering on about how our Colonel who died two years prior, suddenly communicated with us from beyond the grave?

It would have been a quick one, two, three – and the whole lot of us would have been thrown in to a padded room.

Why am I going on and on about this one event? Well here's why… I'm dying, Radar.

Yes, you read that correctly; no need to get up and go running to the sink to wash off your glasses.

I know how young I am, and so on and so forth. It's all that I've been hearing for months on end now.

When I first received my diagnosis, the thought that I would kick the bucket soon scared me. However, I must admit that now the finish line is in sight – I really don't mind. I am sick and tired of well… simply being sick and tired.

Maybe once I croak, I can do like Henry did the day of your son's birth and talk to you from the other side.

Heck, maybe I can even come back and haunt Frank Burns in Indiana!

When I go, I will make sure to put in a good word for you with the big cheese upstairs. Not that you'd really need it, though. You are a good egg; always have been and always will be.

I remember the first time me and Trapper got you drunk. Coincidently, that night was the night we taught you how to drive. Remember how on the road to Seoul you were so tanked, that Trapper had to spring up from the passenger seat beside you and grab the steering wheel to swerve out of the way to avoid getting in to a head on collision with that supply truck. Thankfully, trusty Trapper John jerked the steering wheel just right so that nobody got hurt.

That close call sobered you up almost completely. The wide-eyed look of facing off with the grim reaper was evident. You knew what had happened. I'm sure you even saw your life flash before your eyes or something like that.

Trapper and I on the other hand, just sat back in the jeep and laughed our half cut asses off at the whole thing. Now I can't speak for Trapper, but I can say this – have coming very close to death gave me an indescribable thrill.

To put it simply, I felt and reacted the way I did because knowing that I cheated death in a place where the only two things a solider could count on. One was seeing dealing with death every day. The other was being scared out of your socks from the time revelry blew, to lights out.

Wanna know something else? In that very moment, it struck me like a bolt just how naïve you really were. Fresh out of the corn fields – if you may. I realized that you weren't just some sort amusing thing that Trapper and I could mess with whenever we felt like it.

Uncle Sam plucked you away from the only way of life you've ever known – and put you in with a bunch of people who lived very different lifestyles than you did. I can't even imagine how terrifying it must have been for you.

I apologize if my lunacy made things worse for you during those first weeks at the 4077th. I was still trying to wrap my own head around the fact that I was actually in the Army, fighting off in some tiny country that I had never even heard about before.

It was an honour and privilege watching you grow from the timid farm kid, into a man whom could bear several responsibilities of adult life; yet, still able to hold onto and maintain a set of strong morals.

If you really want to get down to the heart of this letter; I am very happy that you never decided to really pick the bottle and lean on it to help you through life.

Keeping on drinking that grape Nehi, kid – it'll keep you from ending up like me.

Sure we had some falling outs here and there over the years, but when push came to shove – we were always able to stay friends. Even at my worst of times, when I was drinking so much that I lost track of days at a time – you were still willing to be my friend.

I know how much you hated that way I drank, but you also knew that I was too far gone to try and stop. You accepted that fact, and moved out to Maine to take care of me for the winter right after Margaret left me.

I suppose she had finally had enough of arguing back and forth about how I lived my life, and realized that a drunkard for a husband wasn't a good choice.

Now that I've lost the battle and am lying here on my deathbed - I feel a very guilty for how selfish my actions were…

My body is a frail as a sheet of filo pastry, Radar. Over the past few weeks my hair has gone from salt and pepper, to a shade as white as snow. My complexion is so yellow that somebody could graft a circular portion of it, to use it in place of a yellow traffic light.

I've done several astounding things during my time on Earth, as well as many deplorable ones.

I am so weak that I can barely hold the pen between my once remarkably dexterous digits, which saved the lives of so many people…

Promise me this Radar… never pick up the bottle.

I don't care if Patty dies in a car accident, or if the entire farm goes up in flames from an out of control bush field fire. Don't do it…

I am going to close now, but before I do there is one more final thing I want say.

You are truly the finest kind, Walter O'Reilly.

With all my love,

" _Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce_

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 **A/N: So this idea has been floating around in my brain for quite some time, and I thought that I should finally get in on paper.**

 **This isn't a one-shot – Hawkeye will write six more letters to people he loves.**

 **I hope that I am writing him in character. I haven't had much experience writing him, but I feel that I know his character very well.**

 **Please review and let me know what you thought.**


	2. Charles

To the one whom I love,

I could have sworn when you first came into my life, that if I'd pull out a thesaurus and looked up the word bigot – Charles Emmerson Winchester III, would have been the first term listed.

You were pompous, self-righteous, mean, demanding and any other type of negative behaviour one might think of.

However, as time went on – I began to notice your good qualities subtly peeking through the ugliness. I discovered that you were also full of compassion and determination. You are also highly empathetic, but most of all you have a wonderful sense of humour.

You know, it really is a shame that you rarely let your playful side shine through. With your big ole' brain and coffers full of dough; you could have pulled some of the most hilarious practical jokes that the Army had ever seen.

Now that's not saying that the stunts you did pull weren't noteworthy. Some of the ones that make my list are the time you stole the canvas from Margaret's tent, and the time you duped me with damned rubber snake when Beej and I were having our joke off. I tell you – nothing can get a person out of bed faster than realize that there is potentially a poisonous snake slithering between the sheets.

Unfortunately, you were on the brunt end of many of mine and BJ's jokes. I'll never forget the whole dropping your drawers in the O.R debacle. Boy, were you sure livid with us! While I did get into trouble up to my hinny with Potter – as well as the rest of the camp – it was all worth it in the end. The memory of the mortified expression on your face has provided me with many a laugh over the years.

Since the armistice was signed, I'm sure that we've only seen each other a handful of times. But the connection we shared whilst living in the garbage dump that was the Swamp, has left a great impact on me.

I don't know if you've heard or not … but I'm near the end of my journey, Chuckles. That's right – I've finally drank myself to death. I'm in the final stage of acute liver failure.

I have pondered back and forth about whether or not I should write this letter, seeing as how separate our lives have been since the war.

I am all alone in the hospital. Nobody is here to hold my hand and weep over my body when I'm gone. I made sure of it the second I picked up the bottle after Margaret left me.

I don't think I can leave though, until I share this one last memory with you. During the latter end of the war, my Father was admitted to the hospital for surgery and there was no way I could reach him.

You saw how visibly tormented I was, and proceeded to share with me the nature of your relationship with your own Father. Hearing about your cold and uncaring relationship made me realize just how important my own Dad was in my life.

My Mom died when I was only ten years old, leaving Dad to raise me by himself. I don't think I ever mentioned this to anybody before, but before Mom passed away – Dad was actually a practising general surgeon. He was a damn good one too! Dad gave it all up though, because he knew that he could not be a brilliant surgeon and good parent at the same time.

Him settling for the mediocre life as a small time family doctor was the best gift he ever could have gave me – himself.

You waiting around with me for a call from that day meant for to me that I can even describe.

From what I hear, your life has turned out exactly the way you hoped it would. There is one thing that I know you did leave behind in Korea – your love of music.

Now I could go on and on, and spew out meaningless dribble about how to get it back. I won't bore you with that though, because I know from my own personal experiences that it is impossible. To this day, I still cannot eat chicken without wanting to run away and hide… Chickens in turn make me think of that little baby that was smothered to death, just because I was screaming at her Mother to quiet it down.

I found out the hard way that not even the strongest batch of gin, can supress those awful memories.

My dying wish for you is this: learn to let yourself go once in an awhile. Laugh more and scowl less. Stop worrying about upholding the Winchester name so much, and starting acting like an average joe.

How about the next time you want to go out for supper – don't go to some highbrow, five star restaurant where you can only get in if you are wearing a double breasted tuxedo. Instead, put on a pair of slacks, a flannel shirt and go to _Burger King_ or _McDonalds._ Hell, you should even wear socks and sandals!

On a more serious note, I that hope you continue to live for many, many, years to come. Thank you for memories we shared while we endured the living hell that was Korea.

Yours truly,

" _Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce_

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 **A/N: So here is the second one. Please drop review if you wish! :)**


	3. Trapper

**Disclaimer: Still don't own M*A*S*H...**

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To the one whom I love,

How the hell are you, Trapper?

Now I know that this might come as a surprise, seeing as that we haven't seen or spoken to each other since, 1952. Nineteen years is a hell of a long time for two people who were as close as we were in Korea, to completely ignore each other.

I am sure you're probably wondering how I got your mailing address in the first place. Well, let's just say that one of the nurses I used to work with knows you quite intimately. In fact, I know this nurse in just such a manner myself. After all, Margaret was my wife before she became the second, Mrs. Johnathan Xavier McIntyre.

You remember those love letters you were mailing back and forth for five years? Well when Margaret hastily packed up her things the night she decided to leave me, she accidently forgot a few of them.

In a drunken fit of rage and remorse, after having the loudest fight I think Crabapple Cove has ever heard; I decided to read the letters… a bad, bad mistake.

By the time that I was finished reading; I had downed so many martini's that I could even stand up to run to the toilet to throw up. Instead, I slumped down off of my office chair, got down on all fours, and got sick on top of the genuine Persian rug that Winchester gave to us as a wedding present. I then proceeded passed out onto a pile of my own puke.

When I came to it, I discovered that my face was not only covered in hardened regurgitation – but I also had pissed and crapped myself as well. That god awful night set the tone for the last eighteen years.

Sure I tried to quit drinking more than once, but after a few days of sobriety I would remember about the letters and the empty hole I felt in my soul… It would drive me right back to the bottle like an infant to a Mother's nipple.

I not sure if you care or not (doesn't matter to me anyways) – but I am on death's doorstep.

My liver is shot, thanks to how you and Margaret stabbed me in the back.

Now knowing you and your ego; I am assuming that you're thinking right now about how me blaming my predicament on you two is completely wrong headed thinking. I am sure that Margaret has regaled you with tales of my drinking before she left. If you think that I was bad then, you have no idea how I've been since.

Not writing me when you left Korea was a low blow – but stealing the love of my life? That has to be about the dirtiest, most despicable, underhanded things that one man can do to another.

I hope that one day _"Hot Lips"_ , will find another poor sucker and then you will feel the pain that I have felt for all these long, miserable years.

To be completely honest, not every part of me hates you. I still love you because off all the good and bad times we endured during the war. We depended on each other. Quite frankly, I don't think that I would have made it those first few months without you there. They would have probably hauled me off in a padded ambulance… What you did to me though, almost completely eradicates the sentiment of the time we spent together in that shithole of country.

Leaving me without saying goodbye and stealing Margaret behind my back, tells me that you are nothing but a yellow bellied coward.

I hope you rot in hell,

" _Hawkeye"_ Benjamin Franklin Pierce

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 **A/N: Hi there, I just wanted to quickly say thank you to all of the people who have followed/Favorited/reviewed this little fic so far.**

 **I was wondering if you guys think I am capturing Hawkeye's character well or not?**

 **I know that he sounds pretty serious, but in my mind I think that a situation such as the one of I've created for Hawkeye; he'd be much more serious because he finally realizes the implications of the addiction that the show hinted at throughout the entire series.**

 **The next letter will either be to Colonel Potter or Klinger; haven't decided yet.**

 **Thanks for taking the time out of your day to read this, and please leave a review if you have any thoughts or criticisms.**


	4. Colonel Potter

To the one whom I love,

It is with great shame and remorse that I write this letter to you, Colonel Potter.

I know that you are a no nonsense type of guy, so I am going to get right down to the point – I'm dying. My battle is finally over, and it looks like the bottle came out on top. I am in the hospital, waiting for what's left of my liver to cash in.

Since Margaret left me, I know I have hurt and disappointed a lot of people because of my constant battle with my alcohol addiction… Finally at the end of all things, I've realized that losing your respect is the one that hurts me the most.

After my Dad passed away in 55', I looked to you to fill the immense void that was left in my life. True to your compassionate nature, you allowed me to lean on you. It was such a difficult time in my life, and you taking an hour out of your night every day to call me, really made feel a lot better. In some ways, it felt as if Dad wasn't really gone.

In Korea, I, along with many others looked up to you as a parental figure. I want to express my undying gratitude for the wisdom you tried to pass onto me. Your sometimes tough love was just the thing I needed now and then to kept me from completely derailing.

The most pivotal piece of advice you tried to pound into my thick skull was the time that Radar got wounded by mortar fire. I remember that I got so wasted that night, even BJ was horrified by my level of alcohol consumption. The next morning the war caught me off guard when they sent us a batch of wounded. I still had a bag on and felt like total shit. Winchester had to close my patient for me because I was busy throwing up an entire bottle of sake from the previous night. After the session, you pulled me into your office and gave me the chewing out of a lifetime. Your warning about how alcohol and surgery don't mix well had an impact for a brief time.

After about a week or so, when things returned to abnormal at ole' 4077th – the war started to be too much for me to handle and as per usual, I turned to the still for comfort.

Thinking back on that incident, I believe you realized that the way I drank wasn't just a wartime thing. You realized that I had developed a very unhealthy dependency on booze. You saw the ugly claws of addiction starting to dig deeper and deeper into being. I know in your own way that you tried more than once to express you concerns whilst in Korea. Now at the end of days, I wish like hell that I would have listened to you…

At the first 4077th reunion in 56'; you pulled me aside and sternly warned that if I kept on drinking the way I was, I'd lose everything I loved… well, you were right. I'm lying here in a hospital bed, all alone. In one way or another, I've manage to drive everybody I have ever cared about away.

I lost my medical license about ten years ago after I botched a sweet old lady's gallbladder removal because I went into the operating theater drunker than a skunk…

I drove the love of my life (who is not to mention the most amazing person ever), into the arms of another man.

I have no dignity left – nothing to show for my forty-eight years on this planet.

Every day since Margaret left me, I wonder to myself if I hadn't gone to Korea – would I still have ended up the way I did. I realize how futile of a question that is, but still…

You endured not just one, but three wars in your time. You are now ninety-one years old and still kicking like a Missouri mule.

I had, and still do, look up to you as a role model. Even though I failed immensely at the game of life, writing you this letter has given a sense of peace.

Words cannot describe how much your guidance and friendship has meant to me throughout the years. Thank you for everything. If there is a heaven and I do by some stoke of dumb luck end up there - I will make sure to watch over you and your family, for whatever time you have left to live.

I love you, Sherman Potter. I hope that the rest of your years are full of joy and love.

Sincerely,

" _Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce_


	5. Klinger

To the one whom I love,

Maxwell Q. Klinger… where do I even begin?

Well, I suppose under normal circumstances I'd ask about how Soon-Lee and your kids are doing. However, this letter isn't under normal circumstances.

Why's that you ask? Well, to be blunt Klinger – I'm writing to you from my deathbed.

Yes, that's right. That monkey on my back finally won the battle

I know that after the war – as well as during it – you and I weren't the closest of pals. We were both so preoccupied with our jobs and suffering, that we just, shall I say actively, co-existed together?

But please, don't take that the wrong way. You, my friend, are truly one in a million.

First of all, during the first half of the war, your devotion to trying to get out on a section eight was one of the most valiant and admirable acts of the entire war. From dressing up like you blew out of _"Gone with the Wind";_ to the time you traded a guy entire Lebanese salami for an edition of LIFE magazine about Maine was astounding, in my opinion.

I still have that magazine you know! I smile every time I read it because I think of you.

I swear if you were to become a billionaire suddenly, you'd still give a guy the shirt off your back if he needed it.

In the early days of the 4077th, you were just the crazy hairy guy who wore woman's clothing, in my mind. As the war progressed, and especially after Radar got discharged; I began to notice increasingly many of your wonderful qualities.

For instance almost everybody (including myself), made fun of you simply because you weren't book smart. Well, let me tell you this… we were dead wrong for doing so. There are very few people who can lie and finagle their way in, or out of a sticky situation the way you can. Your types of smarts are a natural born gift in my opinion.

Another quality of yours that I have admired over the years is the unadulterated passion and dedication that you apply to all aspects of life. Let me tell you, before Korea – I did not think that it was possible for a sane man to work as hard as you did, to try and convince everyone that you crazy.

Every time I saw you proudly strut across the compound in high heels and fancy dress, I thought to myself _, "There goes a brave man."_

Some of the stunts you pulled. like the time you tried to eat a jeep. Or even the time you constructed a glider and tried to fly your way out of Korea, did make me question if you were crazy or not. Also, a few of your outfit choices were slightly questionable at times. The fruit dress you wore on the day the Henry Blake left camp was definitely eccentric, to say the least.

Looking back on the war now, if I wasn't a surgeon and didn't have so many responsibilities during the war – I think that probably would have joined you in your antics. Believe me, I know why you did it. The blood, the mangled bodies of children and teenagers, messes with a guy quickly.

I don't think I had ever told you this before but when you announced at the 4077th farewell meal that you were going to remain in Korea until you and Soon-Lee found her family - I was proud. I also thought to myself that you really are one of the most selfless, caring men I had ever seen. All these years later, that notion still holds true.

At the second 4077th reunion in 59' I, of course, drank far too much as usual. It was only eight at night, but I was just about ready to pass out. Instead of letting me fall face first into the table, you slung one of my arms across your shoulders and with one hand on my back, guided me back to my hotel room. You stuck around while I threw up everything I had ate and drank that night, helped me clean myself up and put on my pajamas before putting me to bed.

When I awoke the next morning, I found a glass of water, two slices of toast and a note from you which read,

" _Hope you don't feel too lousy this morning, Doc. See you in a few years at the next reunion. Please try to take better care of yourself. You are too smart to let yourself go on like this."_

Even though such a short note may not have seemed like much to you, it meant the world to me. You know why? Because it said to me that somebody cared that I was slowly killing myself.

I felt so damn lonely at that reunion because, in a room full of people, nobody besides you, Radar, and Potter bothered to say more than a few words to me. Most of the night, I just sat in the corner and drank by myself because I felt ashamed of what had happened to me after the war. I was so lost in my own grief and depression that I wasn't the Hawkeye all of those people once knew.

I am lying in a hospital bed, waiting for my liver to finally conk out as I write you. Before I leave this world, I needed to let you know that even though I never said to your face – I love you, and I am very happy that our paths crossed.

Thank you for the numerous laughs you gave me during the war, as well as allowing yourself to be used as a verbal punching bag from time to time. You, my friend, understand the true meaning friendship and the concept of human decency.

If I do end up in Heaven, I think that I'll fly around in a floral dress and a pair of hot red pumps in your honour.

I know that life after Korea has been a bit of a bumpy road for you. That being said, I hope that the future brings you and your family nothing but prosperity and joy.

Yours truly,

" _Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce_


	6. Sidney

To the one whom I love,

Sidney Freedman – psychiatrist, devoted husband and father, and an all-around good egg. You, my dear friend, are truly one of a kind.

Many a soldier owes their undying gratitude to you, for helping them to restore their sanity so that life can go on for them after the battle is over. Technically speaking, my name would be among those as well. However, I really don't feel like I should belong on that list.

Sure, after the whole incident with the baby on the bus you helped me to get back to my usual state of abnormality. But after the war, when there was finally no more mangled bodies of teenagers and children constantly being wheeled in front of me, like some sort of sadistic assembly line; the nightmares didn't go away.

Do you remember in 52' when I had that bad bout of night terrors? I dreamt that I was a small boy once more, and I had to stand by and watch my childhood friends die in front of me.

Well finally after a few dreadful nights, Colonel Potter finally decided that enough was enough and called you in to find out if my cheese had slipped off its cracker. I will never forget what you told me when I asked you if I really was going crazy…

You said that my dreams were a normal product of the horror that I was witnessing every day. I then asked you when you thought they would go away. Your reply was,

" _Once this big nightmare is over with, then the little ones should go away. There is a lot of suffering over here though, and it's hard to not to notice it."_

Well, as you very well know, once the big nightmare was over, my little ones did not go away.

The entire time I was stuck over in that cesspool, I pined to be back in Crabapple Cove with my Dad and live like a normal human being. Funny thing is, once I finally did get back home after the war – part of me wished that I was still in Korea with 4077th…

I didn't miss the horrible work hours, or the feeling of constantly being scared that the next minute could be my last. I didn't miss the lousy stuff that the Army called "food". The rats, the lice and dysentery I certainly did not miss… It was the people.

Charles wasn't around to annoy. Colonel Potter wasn't there to set me on the right path when my moral compass went askew. Margaret wasn't there to tell me what a jackass I could be. Klinger wasn't around to give me a good laugh with one of his crazy stunts or screw-ups, just when I thought that my day couldn't possibly get worse. Father Mulcahy wasn't around to amaze me with endless amounts of patience and humility. And then there was BJ, the best friend I ever had – well he was all away across the damned country. Hell, I missed everybody from the 4077th.

Don't worry Sid – your name is among those whom I missed as well. I guess you already kind of knew that, though.

When my Dad tracked you down in October of 53', I was surprised to find out that he asked you to fly out to Crabapple Cove to come and see me. I have to admit I was somewhat angry at the time for him to do so. But looking back on it, I am glad that Dad did care enough to get you to come out for a visit.

The truth was that I was really not doing too well adjusting to civilian life. I flinched and wanted to hit the ground anytime I heard a sudden loud noise like a car backfiring. At my practice, I refused to treat or deliver babies. Every time I saw a little human being, my brain instantly took me back to that horrendous moment when I realized that the Korean baby on the bus stopped crying because it was dead…

At night, I barely slept because I would just keep having numerous nightmares about the war. After endless nights of waking up every few hours in a panic and cold sweat, I turned to the one thing that I had at home, which I also had in Korea – alcohol.

My favorite drink was still a dry martini because it reminded me of all the good times I had in the Swamp with the people I missed so much. A bottle of twelve-year-old scotch also gave me a sense of nostalgia.

I didn't drink much during that period – just enough to give me a slight buzz so that I felt sleepy. A glass here and there, slowly but surely, turned into a fifth a night. Then it was a third, then half a bottle and eventually I needed damn near a whole bottle just to be able to fall asleep at night.

I knew that Dad was worried about me, though he never really let on that he did. Here and there I'd notice an anxious glance over his shoulder, directed at me. Some nights when I would drink too much, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and run to the bathroom to throw up. I usually then would hear Dad get up after I staggered back to my bed and he'd clean up the mess I'd left. Not a word was said by either of us the following morning.

But then you flew out to see me. We talked and we talked about everything and anything that week. We laughed and a few times our eyes even became misty with tears as we remember a few of the darker times in Korea. But you know what, I never had a drop of booze that week and I didn't miss it in the slightest.

Before you left to take your cab to the airport at the end of your visit, I will never forget when you gave me one of the best and I suppose the worst suggestion ever. You told me to call up Margaret and have her come out to Maine for a visit.

You knew that I felt incomplete and lost trying to pick up the pieces of my life. You also knew that the key to unlocking the road to fixing myself was, Margaret.

I'll never forget the speech you gave at our wedding reception. You went on to tell the entire roomful of people after your second or third trip to the unit, you knew that we were a match made in heaven. You said that our personality differences balanced each other out. Her tempered subdued my ego. While as my sense of humour and playful nature reminded her that she needed to laugh and let loose more often.

Even after I found out that she had been cheating on me with that bastard McIntyre and I went head first into a tailspin – you still came out to Crabapple Cove every few months and visited with me. Let me tell you, even though I wasn't sober for most of your visits, they still meant the world to me.

When you told me in 60' that you decided you were going to open up a speciality practise in which you only treated veterans that were suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder; I had never been more proud of anybody. I suppose that I was the inspiration for your idea, which in isn't really a bad thing now that I think about it. Even though my life was in the gutter, at least others like me could be able to have to the incredible resource of being able to chew the fat with you.

I am sure by now you are probably wondering why the heck I am blathering on and on like this… Well, here it is Sidney – I am finally at the end of my journey. My liver is finally in the last stages of failure. My doctor says that I have two, maybe three days left at the absolute most.

And do you want to know something else? I feel relieved and petrified with fear and the same time.

To gain a sense of peace, I've been writing letters to the people whom I love the most and apologized for my failures and how I've hurt them over the years. I've also told them just how much they really do mean to me.

So far, I've had letter rushed delivered out to Radar, Charles, Colonel Potter, Trapper, Klinger, and now to you.

Here's the difference between their letters and yours. I am going to tell you where exactly I am. I actually wound up at Boston Mercy Hospital, believe it or not. Something about how I needed a particular specialist, and so on. I am in hospice ward on the second floor, in room 7B.

I have two more letters I need to write; one to Margaret and the other to BJ. Yes, that's right, I am going to break my vow of never speaking to either of them again. I want to own up to my mistakes and apologize for acting like such a jackass. I especially want to tell BJ how profoundly sorry I am for what I did during the weekend we were all the Philadelphia for Father Mulcahy's funeral.

As one last favour to an old patient, and hopefully friend – can you please fly out here and see me.

I don't want to die alone…

If I kick the bucket before you can get here, or you don't decide to come as see me (which I totally understand if you do), I want you to know this. You have saved my life many a time, so please feel that you failed me. I've come to realize that the black demon of addiction is just too powerful for anybody to overcome sometimes… and you know what, that's okay.

Oh yeah, and one last thing – I love you. I am so blessed to have had you in my life.

Goodbye, Sidney.

Sincerely,

" _Hawkeye" Benjamin Franklin Pierce_


	7. Unexpected Visitors

**Disclaimer: I don't own Mash!**

* * *

A soft touch, gently rocking Hawkeye's shoulder made him awaken from his slumber. It took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the harsh light of the fluorescence lights in the ceiling above his bed. Once they his pupils had adjusted; he turned his head to the right to find that a young brunette nurse was standing by his bed.

"It's just me, Mr. Pierce."

"I'm not dead yet – right?" Hawkeye asked in a croaky voice.

The young nurse's gentle smile only became more pleasant as she replied, "No, Mr. Pierce. How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm dying," Hawkeye sardonically mumbled.

The nurse's soft brown eyes reflect the expression of deep sympathy, which Hawkeye did not care for in the slightest.

In his mind, he didn't deserve an ounce of sympathy. He was the one who had gotten himself into the grim predicament he was facing. Nobody forced the bottle into his hand. He was the one who decided to keep on drinking. No, sympathy was the last thing he deserved.

"For Christ's sake stop looking at me like that! Why the hell are you still on my case? I thought I told Dr. Williamson to boot you off of my case." Hawkeye sounded irritable much like an angry wolf.

"Well he obviously didn't listen," the nurse kept a patient tone with him.

Hawkeye gritted his teeth. He knew that there no point in arguing with her. Since had been transferred to the hospital a four days ago, the young brunette was the only nurse that was there to attend to him.

He had been very ornery with her. He didn't let on that it was because she reminded him that he wasn't a young man anymore. A perfect picture of youth he thought, the first time he saw her.

She had been very helpful to him in regards to writing the letters. She went out and on her own coin bought a high-quality ballpoint pen, and the best stationery that the hospital gift shop had. As soon as Hawkeye had finished with one letter, the nurse put it in an envelope, stuck on some stamps, and sent it away with an express delivery service.

In all aspects, Hawkeye thought that his nurse was a model nurse. If he weren't a drunkard and was still practicing medicine, he would have hired her in a heartbeat.

There was only one thing off about her, which was the fact that she refused to tell him her name, despite his constant prodding. So, since she wouldn't divulge her name to him; Hawkeye simply referred her as "Minnie", because of she reminded him of Minnie Mouse. The lilt she had when she would laugh was what reminded him of the cartoon character.

There was something else about her that was also familiar to him, but he just could not put a finger on what it was.

At night when Hawkeye would be asleep – or try to sleep – there was a grouchy, fat nurse with a thick German accent that would stop in. He did not care for her sour attitude, but then again, it was better than the sad, sympathetic glances, that the brunette gave him.

"Do you know if there is somebody here to see me, Minnie? I know my chart says no visitors, but I changed my mind as of yesterday…" Hawkeye could hear the fear of rejection in his own voice.

"There is in fact somebody here who wants to see you. Do you think you're up to it?"

It suddenly dawned on Hawkeye that he had made it through another night on the Earth. Realizing that it could be Sidney who was waiting to see him, he told the nurse in a much more alert tone than before, "Yeah, of course. Send them in right away."

"Okay, I'll go get her." The nurse's nodded as she quickly shuffled out of the room.

Hawkeye furrowed his brow in confusion. Why did the nurse say _"her"_? The last time Hawkeye checked, Sidney Freedman was a man.

The very brief interlude where the nurse went to fetch his mystery visitor seemed like an eon to him. Finally, he heard the definitive click-clack of woman's high-heeled shoes approach his door.

Hawkeye's jaw dropped in shock when he laid eyes on the older woman, whose arm was linked around Minnie's. He now knew why Minnie looked so familiar…

Besides a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, she practically looked the same as she did since the last time he had seen her in July, of 1953. She wore a maroon colored dress that stopped just below her knees. Her hair was still the same shade of dark brunette and stopped just before her shoulders. The rouge and soft pink lipstick highlighted the shimmering brown eyes that he had stared into many a time before, in the dimly lit supply shed at the 4077th.

Minnie grinned with satisfaction at Hawkeye's floored expression. She was happy that her plan was going to work out after all.

"I take it you two remember one another. Mr. Pierce, this is my mom – Shelly Bigelow."

"Bigelow," Hawkeye smiled for the first time in over a year.

Now it all made sense. Standing beside her Mom, Hawkeye knew why Minnie looked so familiar; she was almost an exact carbon copy of her Mom.

Bigelow was stunned at the poor state of her old lover. She expected him to look rough seeing as that he was in hospice care, but she never in a million years did she expect him to look so sick.

His skin was as yellow as a lemon, and his hair white like snow. The gown he was wearing looked three sizes too big. There was barely any meat on his bones. His belly, however, looked swollen though – a typical sign of liver failure.

She pushed her feelings aside however and unhooked her arm from her daughter. She then walked over to the foot of Hawkeye's bed and took a seat on the edge of it.

"Oh Hawkeye," Bigelow sighed as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. She cautiously grabbed one of Hawkeye's hands and squeezed it between her two hands. "It's a shame that after all of these years we have to meet again like this."

Hawkeye's tired eyes were suddenly bursting with life while they locked in with Bigelow's."What have you been doing all these years? Why didn't you come to any of the reunions?"

Bigelow bowed her head almost in shame. "I – I really don't know Hawk. By the time the war had ended, I was just so tired. First I was stationed at a hospital in Paris during WW2, and then Korea… I had just had enough of war. I didn't to be a part of anything that reminded me of it."

Hawkeye understood her position all too well.

"I don't blame you for that one bit," Hawkeye stated warmly. He then continued on, "But why are you here?"

Before her mom had a chance to answer; the younger Bigelow in the room piped up.

"When I mailed out the first of your letter's, I saw that it was to a Walter O'Rielly, and you signed it as _"Hawkeye"_ – then it dawned on me. You were the Hawkeye that my Mom always talked about when somebody mentioned Korea. I know I violated the sanctity of the patient confidentiality rule – but I figured that you wouldn't mind."

Hawkeye grinned at the young nurse. With the smooth tone he commented, "Now I know where you get your good nursing skills from, not to mention your looks. It's a good thing I'm too sick to try and make a pass at you. Otherwise, I'm sure your Mom here would have slapped me so hard that I'd of flown through the air all the way to Arkansas."

Both women laughed. For a second it was as if Hawkeye wasn't dying and that he was still his rambunctious old self.

"Well, I will let you two have some alone time. I have a few more patients to check up on," Minnie said before she turned around and left.

"Why did you come here? We haven't seen each other for more than two decades." Hawkeye asked, his tone becoming serious.

"Molly isn't married yet, and - "

"Wait a second – your daughter's name is Molly?" Hawkeye couldn't help but to chuckle.

Bigelow laughed as well, knowing what Hawkeye was getting at. "Yes, it is. You weren't far off by calling her Minnie. I actually considered that as a possible name!"

Hawkeye chuckled. After a few moments, he then let Bigelow continue on, "As you were saying?"

"Right, well Molly is still at home. One day she came home from work very upset. I asked her what was wrong. She refused to tell me. But after a bit of prodding she finally gave in. She was upset about a difficult patient of hers by the name of, Pierce. She then went on to say that she has been mailing letters for him. She said that his story was so sad. After breaking out into t sobbing fit, she finally let on that it was the Dr. Pierce that I went out with during the Korean war."

"I uh-" This was one of the few times in his life that Hawkeye was at a loss for words.

"I just had to come and see you, Hawk. Out of all the men I dated in my life – I never had as much fun as I had with you at the 4077th."

"That's really, um, touching Bigelow. I really had-"

"Don't – it's okay. I knew back in Korea that what we had in Korea was only a temporary thing." Bigelow pleaded.

Hawkeye nodded in understanding, "So, what happened to you after the war? It's like you just dropped off from the face of the Earth."

"Well, on my plane ride home from Honolulu to San Francisco, I met this handsome, fast talking bombardier. Once we landed, we both skipped our next flight and wound up together in a motel room if you get my drift," Bigelow paused for a moment and sighed. "Nine months later, I found myself alone in the hospital with a newborn baby girl."

"And what happened to her Father? I am assuming that you two are married, now?" Hawkeye asked, very concerned that she was speaking in singular terms.

"No," Bigelow shook her head, "the only time I ever heard from him when he complained that the child support payments were too much."

The sadness in her voice tugged on Hawkeye's heartstrings. He could tell by the weary expression on Bigelow's face that life after Korea hadn't been kind to her either.

"What did you do then?"

"My parents were so disappointed in me when I told them that I was pregnant and wasn't engaged to be married, that I was excommunicated from the family. I moved here to Boston right before my due date and have been a single mom ever since. There have been a few men since Molly's father, but they never stuck around…"

"There idiots then," Hawkeye stated matter of factly.

"You really think so?" Bigelow gave him a weak smile.

"Are you kidding me? With looks and brains like yours – any man would be lucky to call you his own."

"Oh Hawk," Bigelow chuckled, "you haven't changed one bit. You still can sweet talk a woman like no other man can."

"It's so good to see you again Bigelow… you really don't know how much this visit means to me," Hawkeye was shocked to find tears welling in his own eyes now. "Despite the fact that that loser got you pregnant and left – you did a hell of a good job raising your girl. She's a damn good nurse and has a one in a million personality just like her Mom."

"You really think so, Hawk?" Bigelow asked tentatively. The insecurities she held throughout the years of being a single Mom in a society where children out of wedlock were shunned upon were blatantly obvious.

"Of course! For pity sake, she's this young and works in hospice? Doesn't that say something to you about how good a job you did raising her." Hawkeye warmly reassured her.

Bigelow flashed him a huge grin, "That really means a lot to me, Hawkeye." After pausing for a moment, she worked up the courage to ask, "What happened after the war for you?"

Hawkeye's smile quickly faded into a frown. "Basically, the hold that the still had on me in the Swamp grew and grew. Twenty some years later here I am. Alone and dying in the hospital."

Bigelow merely nodded, not knowing how else to respond.

"It's okay Bigelow."

"What's okay?" She really didn't get what Hawkeye meant.

"Don't feel sad for me. I did this to myself. Believe me, if you knew about some of the things I've done you'd agree that sympathy is the last thing I deserve right now." Hawkeye said, sounding a tad bit irritated.

"Well I don't know what you did, but if that's what you want I'll try my best not to be sad. Okay?"

"Fine by me," Hawkeye agreed, feeling more and more tired by the second.

"You can go back to sleep if that's what you need," Bigelow told him, noting his apparent exhaustion.

"What if I don't wake up?"

"Don't be silly," Bigelow rolled her eyes playfully, "I know you will because I'll be waiting for you to wake up."

Unable to keep his eyelids open anymore, Hawkeye reluctantly fell back asleep. Before he lost consciousness, he told himself that he would wake up.

* * *

Sure enough, two hours later Hawkeye was awoken by the sound of a rather loud verbal argument happening just outside of his room. The blinds were shut so he couldn't see who was arguing.

He knew that one voice belonged to his doctor, and the other sounded very pompous. In fact, it sounded so pompous that he could have almost sworn that it belonged to Charles Emmerson Winchester the III.

A few curt words later, and Hawkeye discovered that it was in fact Charles who was raising hell in the hallway.

He had gained a few more pounds and lost a bit of hair since that last time Hawkeye had seen him. But other than a few wrinkles, it was undeniable that it really was his old Swampmate standing in the doorway.

"Charles?" Hawkeye gaped in astonishment.

"That's right, Pierce," Charles replied, "May I perhaps come in?"

"Sure," Hawkeye furrowed his brow in confusion, "I mean wh-"

"Shush now, Pierce," Charles remarked a soothing tone, "just let me do the talking."

Feeling feeble, Hawkeye had no choice but to nod in agreement.

Charles walked over to Hawkeye's bed and sat on the foot of it, just like Bigelow had hours prior.

"What give Charles?"

"For starters, I kicked that nitwit Williamson off of your case and assumed the position of your physician." Charles scowled in his characteristic, Winchester like manner. "That moron wouldn't have a job here if his Father hadn't donated those two research labs."

"But how did you now I was here?" Hawkeye begged to understand.

A small smile spread across Charles' lips.

"Well once I received your remarkably sentimental letter; I have to admit that I've been on the phone with just about every hospital in the country, trying to find out where you are. Yet, all along you were right here in Boston Mercy," Charles suddenly inhaled, astonished to find that the emotion he felt inside suddenly took on the physical form of tears.

"You see Pierce," Charles fought back his emotions, "I have never been one to outwardly express my feelings for the people in my life that have touched me the most. After reading that I impacted your life as much as you've affected mine… well, I had to let you know before you leave this world for good that I cherished our relationship as much as you do. While in Korea, you – as well as Hunnicutt – taught me numerous lessons about the virtue of humility, as well as what the meaning of true friendship is. I am forever in your debt for that."

Hawkeye gently laid a comforting hand on Charles' knee. With an appreciative tone he said, "It's okay Charles. Please don't be sad for me. I'm just glad that you're here."

Charles smiled weakly, "Yes… well, you see as the years have passed by – I've come to the conclusion that despite the lack of physical proof of life after death – I believe that there, in fact, is. I think it's a pleasant place where our souls can go to heal after facing the trial and tribulation of Earthy existence. Despite your weakness regarding alcohol, I wholeheartedly believe that – as the Christians say – there is a mansion waiting for you in Heaven."

"Charles," tears were now flowing down Hawkeye's sunken in cheeks, "I – I don't know what to say."

"Then don't at all," Charles smiled before he quickly regained his usual dignified composure. "Now then, according to your charts, you still have some time left with the living – so please try to conserve your strength. After all, our old comrade Bigelow and I are not the only visitors waiting to see you."

Hawkeye could almost have sworn that his heart skipped a beat. He played it cool though and calmly inquired, "What do you mean?"

Charles stood up and patted Hawkeye hand softly, "Sidney Freedman in downstairs in the main foyer. He has to make some calls, but after that he'll be right up."

* * *

 **A/N: Hi there. I just wanted to say a quick thank you too all whom have review/followed/favorited this story. Your support really means a lot to me.**

 **I am wondering what your thoughts are on if the dialogue for Winchester is in character in your opinion? I've never written for him before, not have I for Hawkeye much, now that I think about it.**

 **I chose Bigelow to make an appearance because well, she was my favourite of the reoccurring nurses throughout the series.**

 **There are only three more chapter left until this story concludes. Until my next update – Cheers!**


	8. The Devotion of a Winchester

After Charles had left Hawkeye, he began taking the long route back to his office. It involved two going up not just one, but two separate elevators. Once he had finally arrived on the top floor of the hospital – that's where the head administers offices were – he had to walk down an endless maze of corridors until he reached his office. Much to his displeasure, his designated space just happened to be situated in the furthest corner from the elevator.

He hated the journey. To him, it seemed brutish and entirely unnecessary. If he knew what dunderhead designed the layout of the hospital, he'd write a rather vulgar anonymous letter in a heartbeat.

As Charles stood waiting for the first of the elevators he needed to take to arrive, a familiar face in a white lab coat showed up beside him.

"Dr. Winchester," the man greeted.

"Dr. McIntyre," Charles begrudgingly acknowledged Trapper's presence.

Since Margaret and Trapper had gotten married in the Fall of 59'; Charles made the effort to try and get o know Trapper a bit. He really did not care for the man at all. If it were up to him, he wouldn't have a single thing to do Trapper. However, Charles was still good friends with Margaret, so to keep the peace he put his opinion of on the backburner.

"What are you doing around here at this time of day? It's nearly 5:30pm. I thought that you'd be home enjoying whatever fancy meal the kitchen staff at your manor prepared for you by now." Trapper said, in an attempt to initiate some small talk.

Charles glanced over his shoulder at Trapper. The usual smugness that was present on the doctor's face ignited a fiery rage inside of Charles. The total cluelessness about the fact that his former best friend was wasting away in a hospital bed also added to the fire.

On a typical day, Charles could find it within himself to ignore Trapper's smugness, and at times rather nasty temper. He was able to look past Trapper's crude and boorish nature for short intervals at a time.

But this wasn't a typical day…

"I was unaware, Dr. McIntyre, that my schedule was your concern. Moreover, my diet and the food that is prepared for me at home is definitely none of business." Charles seethed, feeling his blood pressure rise by the second.

"Yeesh, somebody is a bit testy today," Trapper commented in return while shaking his head in annoyance.

"Testy? No, I am far from testy," Charles narrowed his eyes as he stared down Trapper.

"Seems to me like you are, Charles."

"Hah!" Charles sardonically boomed. "I am in fact quite depressed today, thanks to a tragic circumstance if you must know. In the present however, your sheer ignorance and lack of compassion for your fellow man is what is driving me mad!"

Trapper's eyes darkened with fury. He straightened up his posture and puffed out his chest slightly before asking, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that the man whom you used to refer to as your best friend, is in fact in this hospital, lying on his deathbed." Charles temper was functioning at its peak velocity, so he continued to steam on ahead, "Do really you have no regrets about how you decided just to cut open Margaret and Hawkeye's marriage and tear it apart like a rabid dog? Do you have any idea what kind of torment your actions have brought him? Yes, Pierce has done some deplorable things after he lost Margaret to you. Despite his actions which, I must note – were brought about by the disease he has paid his life for – he deserves to hear an apology from you! No, you did not physically shove the bottle in his hand and force him to drink himself to death. Your own selfishness and lack of general respect for the feelings of Hawkeye did contribute deeply to the unraveling of an extraordinary human being. If you have at least an ounce of decency within your calloused soul; you will think about what I've said. Maybe, just maybe you'd even do something to try and ratify the hurt you've caused Hawkeye while there is still time left."

Having said his piece, Charles then spun around on his heels and headed back down the hallway from where he came.

He didn't need to hear Trapper's enviably bigoted rebuttal; it would simply be a waste of precious time.

As Charles descended down the numerous sets of stairs that led to the parking garage; he decided that he would just call his secretary from home, to let her know that all of his appointments and surgeries needed to be cancelled for the next few days. After that, he would take a quick shower and change into some fresh clothes, before returning to help see his old Swampmate through his final days.

He was a Winchester, and Winchester's never fail to help out a friend in need.

* * *

Hawkeye, in fact, did not get one wink of sleep. He really could not believe that Sidney had read his letter, and actually flown to Boston to see him.

About twenty minutes after Charles had left his room; Hawkeye found himself looking upon the weary face of an old friend. He could see that Sidney was taken aback by the severe deterioration of his physical appearance, by how wide Sidney's eyes became as he halted in the doorway.

After a second, Sidney quickly got over his shock and regained his usual good-natured composure. As he walked towards Hawkeye's bed, he shook his head. In his usual exuberant, yet serious tone he remarked, "Do you really think that I wouldn't drag myself all the way out here for you?"

A deep chuckle emerged from Hawkeye's throat. He weakly patted edge of his bed, beckoning Sidney to sit down.

"Stop your griping and lose that overcoat and hat already," Hawkeye referred to the grey wool coat, and black tweed fedora that Sidney was sporting.

"I'd thought you'd never ask," Sidney smirked as he shed his heavy winter overcoat and placed it on a hook beside Hawkeye's bed. After placing his hat on the bed stand by Hawkeye's head, Sidney took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't be here for you?" Sidney didn't give Hawkeye a chance to answer as he quickly added on, "Come on, Hawkeye. After all the good and bad times we've been through together, I'd be a lousy friend if I let you leave this world feeling all alone. I know how guilty you feel, but like I said countless times before – anybody with a brain would realize that it was a disease that made you hurt the people you love. You – the real Hawkeye Pierce – would never in a million years intentionally harm those whom you care about the most."

Sidney's statement made Hawkeye feel like an enormous weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. First Bigelow, then Charles, and now Sidney… Maybe he wasn't going to end up in hell after all.

"You really believe that Sid – Because I've come to find that I don't know what I am and am not capable of anymore." Hawkeye still felt reluctant to believe him.

"Of course I do you louse," Sidney chuckled. "Now then, has Charles stopped by yet? He called me in quite the frantic panic yesterday, wondering if I knew where you were. He said that he had received a very touching letter from you. When I told him that you basically a few hundred yards away from him, he thanked me and hung up the phone so fast that I could have sworn his pants were on fire."

"On the level, Sid?" Hawkeye asked as he furrowed his brow. He wanted to make sure that Sidney wasn't joking.

"It's the truth!"

"Winchester," Hawkeye chuckled as he shook his head, "he has barely changed a bit!"

"How so?" Sidney was curious as to his meaning.

"He told me that he had found me all by himself. Boy, some people can never admit that they sometimes need to rely on the knowledge of others." Hawkeye commented.

"Well, maybe." Sidney casually shrugged his shoulders, "I think that Winchester is a special case. His ego and his subconscious desire to be a normal human being collide so much, that at the end of the day, everything balances out. Otherwise, I think that you and Hunnicutt would have clobbered him years ago in Korea."

"Hah," Hawkeye snorted, "You're sure right about that one."

"So, I believe that you mention that you wanted my help writing some letters. You only have BJ and Margaret left, if I recall correctly?"

The heavy feeling of bearing the knowledge that he wasn't long for the world, quickly returned to Hawkeye. With a sigh, he replied, "That's right."

"Okay, let me just grab my notepad and pen," Sidney said his most soothing, clinical voice.

After rooting through his coat pockets and finding the necessary supplies, Sidney resumed his original position on the bed.

"So, who will it be to first?"

Hawkeye sighed sadly and took a second before he made up his mind, "I think that I want to write to Beej first."

"Alright then, how do you want to start?"

"Well here goes nothing…" Hawkeye mumbled aside to himself. He then began to dictate to Sidney, "To the one whom I love…"

* * *

 **A/N: Well I lied. After this there will be three more chapters now! I hope this wasn't too dull :/ I just felt that an interlude was necessary before we get into the heavy content of Hawkeye writing to BJ and Margaret.**


	9. BJ

To the one whom I love,

Hiya BJ… It's Hawkeye.

Know that right now if you decide to stop reading this letter and throw it into the fireplace in a fit of rage, that I would not hold it against you. I'd be disappointed yes, but blameful – no.

If you do decide to read on and see what I have to say – I'd like to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thirteen years is a very long time for two people that were as close as we were to not speak to one another. But considering the circumstances that have led to such a rift between us, I'd say that it is acceptable.

I am just going to get right down to business Beej… I am dying. In a day or two, my liver is finally going to cry, _uncle_.

I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but this isn't my handwriting. Sidney Freedman has flown out to the hospital where I am at and is helping me out.

You see, for the past few days, I've been actually been composing letters to all of the people whom I love, to express how much their friendship and guidance has impacted me over the years. Also within the letters, I have apologized for the numerous ways that my poor behaviour and my addiction have hurt them.

If you can find it within yourself to continue reading; I'd be honoured to do the same with you.

I suppose I should begin with the first time I met you… Boy was I sure livid at the time. My so called best friend, "Trapper" John McIntyre, left without saying goodbye to me. What's worse was that I missed him at the Kimpo airport by only ten minutes – ten lousy minutes!

Let me tell you Beej, when Radar first presented you to me, I thought,

" _This guy looks like he just hopped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. He isn't going to last even one week at the 4077_ _th_ _before the horrors of war tear him down until he is nothing more than a whimpering child. Either that, or some crook of a supply Sergeant is going to scam him for all he's got – including the shirt off his back – at the weekly poker game."_

Only a few minutes later when you helped me fast talk Radar out of getting busted for impersonating an officer – I was proven dead wrong.

As that dreadfully long day played out, I realized that even though you were naïve about life in a warzone, you'd eventually settle in and find your place at the 4077th. Furthermore, I had a very distinct feeling that you were to become a dear companion of mine.

I think what sealed the deal on my high opinion of you, was the first time you met Frank. In your highly inebriated state, you saluted him and uttered those immortal words, " _What say ya, Ferret Face?"_

You then proceeded to lose what was left of your balance and fell face first into Margaret's spectacular breasts.

My immediate thought was, _"This type of first impression would even make Trapper proud! I guess if Trapper would have liked him, I can too."_

Later that night, or I suppose early the next morning when the booze had finally worn off – I awoke to the sound of you softly weeping. Between your sobs, I heard something else that surprised me… the sound of you praying. You begged God to see you safely through the next eighteen months and to make sure that Peg and Erin would be able to carry on in your absence.

The vulnerability in your voice really tugged on my heartstrings. My mind was basically made up that I would actively try to get to know you better. However, at that moment I knew that as somebody who had been around the military block a few times, that I needed to take you under my wing and show you that it is possible to adapt and function in the insane situation we were both in. I also knew in my bones that it was my duty as a decent human to take of you until you'd be able to stand on your own two feet. I think it took only a matter of three days until it clicked that you and I were destined to be friends.

I used to like to think that our thought patterns were tuned into the same station. You were thing ying to my yang; the ketchup to my mustard.

In the O.R we worked like a well-oiled machine. If we both had our gloved hands inside the belly of a solider, he was stitched up and on his way to Post OP in no more than three hours. Heck, I think that you and I could have broken the world record for the fastest team splenectomy, back in the day.

We pulled practical jokes on one another, as well as several other poor suckers. Many of which I never would have been able to pull off without you.

You were so good natured about all of the times I pranked you; or got revenge for your latest lopsided scheme. Sure some of your jokes weren't the best… nailing my damn boot to the floor comes to mind! Truth be told though, I actually enjoyed your duds as much as your successes because bugging you was just as much fun.

After our twenty-three plus work day was done; we'd drown our sorrows as boon companions at the Officer's Club, Rosie's, or at the still in the Swamp. Looking back on those binge sessions from an objective standpoint, I suppose one could say that they were the beginning of my demise.

However, knowing myself and the nature of the darkly surreal situation we were in – I would have turned to booze weather you were drinking beside me or not.

There were definitely times during the war where we would be on the outs. But hey, every friendship has its twists and turns. No matter what though, we always realized that whatever we were arguing about was miniscule in value compared to strength of the bond that we shared.

Every time we reconciled after one of these falling outs, I was always confused and a bit awestruck as to why somebody as put together as you, would waste energy on a neurotic nutcase like myself.

Think about it, Beej – you are Class A surgeon, have the patience of a saint, and are a wonderful family man. The big guy upstairs really did deal you a royal flush in life.

Even though we haven't spoken for several years; I've heard through Sidney and Colonel Potter about how proud you are about the wonderful person your daughter has become. I can vividly picture the big cheesy grin on your face the day you found out that Erin got accepted into Stanford's medical school. Your pride must have been through the roof, knowing that she was going to be the fourth generation doctor in the Hunnicutt clan.

From what I gather, Erin has the brains of her Father, and the compassionate nature and good looks of her Mother. Even though life hasn't turned the way you expected it to after the war – know that you and Peg did a hell of good job raising Erin.

Speaking of Peg… I suppose that it's time to get down to the core reason as to why I am breaking my silence. Looking the Grim Reaper in the eyes (or the " _The Bastard_ " as we used to affectionately refer to him as, in Korea), was what it took I guess for me to finally overcome my own ego. Now at the end of all things, I am finally able to own up to the fact that what happened between you, Peg, and I, the weekend of Father Mulcahy's funeral is unequivocally my fault.

I would like to extend my fullest and most sincere apology toward you for it. My own selfishness and lack of decency is the reason why your picture perfect family split apart, like the deepest and widest valley in Grand Canyon.

I am not sure how Peg explained the course of events to you – or if she even had a chance to for that matter – so I am going to go ahead and explain how it all went down.

Like I said, it was the weekend of Father Mulcahy's funeral. It was a bitterly cold, horrendously gloomy, few days. Most of the 4077th gang was in Philadelphia to say goodbye to the stoic, brave and humble human being that was our Padre.

I still don't understand why a man of God was called home in such a tragic, grotesque way, like being hit by a city bus that ran red light. But he was… so it was only fitting that the people he helped so much during the war would gather to celebrate his wondrous life.

Of course the service was very religious in nature; but the unfittingly uptight mood instantly dissipated when Colonel Potter got up and delivered the eulogy. By the end of it, I don't think that there was a dry eye in the church.

After the service, the reception was held in a banquet hall in the hotel we were all staying in. I hitched a ride with you and Peg back to the hotel. When we entered the lobby, you headed straight to the reception while Peg and I, took what was meant to be a quick detour to the bathrooms.

Peg had wanted to fix her makeup which was all worn away and smudged from crying. Myself… well even though that at the time I had somehow miraculously managed to stay sober for four straight days (I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't dishonour Mulcahy by showing up drunk to his funeral), all I could think about was having a drink.

Anytime during the service – besides when the Colonel was talking – all I could think about was badly I needed to have a drink to deal with the harsh reality of the weekend.

It was a very daunting wake up call to realize that even though we were no longer living in a war zone; I could still lose the people that I care about most at any given moment, to that fucking Bastard. Secondly, seeing Margaret so happy with Trapper by her side drove me far past the point of buggy, as I am sure you can very well imagine.

Anyways, Peg and I agreed to wait for one another outside of the bathrooms before heading into the hall. As we were about to part ways to go do our business – some oaf of a bellboy was in a hurry and shoved between us, causing Peg to loose grip on her handbag. Subsequently, the numerous contents of her purse spilt out all over the floor. I immediately bent down and helped he gather her belongings, when the small, five ounce, stainless steel flask that was concealed in the inner pocket in my suit jacket; fell onto the floor.

I could feel all of the blood leave my face when Peg immediately stopped what she was doing and picked up the flask. Forgetting about the mess on the floor, she stood up with the flask in hand and in a very cool and calm voice asked three simple, yet poignant words, _"How could you?"_

The guilt and anger I felt boil up inside of me was more than I could handle. My heart was pounding a mile a minute, but other than that I felt completely numb. You know what I'm talking about – the kind of numbness that overcomes a person when they experience a terrible trauma, or when they feel an immense amount of guilt about something. In this situation, I would obviously fall into the latter category.

Not knowing what to say, I simply finished gathering up the rest of Peg's belongings and put them back into her purse. I then stood up, gripping her bright red handbag until my knuckles were a ghostly shade of white. With my head hung down muttered the only thing that I could manage to articulate in my state of shock was to mutter that I was sorry.

What happened next surprised me. Peg gently placed a hand on my cheek, causing me to look from my feet. Instead of seeing anger and disgust in her eyes like I had expected to see – I instead saw empathy. For some reason, Peg's expression broke the spell of the shock I was in and I burst then out into tears like a toddler.

Seeing that people were beginning to arrive for the reception, Peg knew that I had to get the hell out of that lobby… and fast! She quickly grabbed my hand and led me down the hall to the south wing where you and she shared a room.

After hastily ushering me inside, she closed the door behind me and locked it with the chain lock. Peg then led me to the queen sized bed in the center of the room and told me to sit down while she did something in the bathroom.

By that time my uncontrollable sobbing had slowed to a soft weep. As I sat on the edge of the bed wondering just what I was doing alone in a room with your wife; I heard the sound of my precious gin being poured down the bathroom sink. After running the tap to wash away any excess booze in the sink and in my flask – Peg emerged, and placed the empty flask on top of the oak encased television set.

Without saying a word, she sat down beside me on the bed, so that there was very little distance between her body and my own.

Feeling the need to make up and excuse about why after I swore you and Peg that I wouldn't drink during the trip, I began to spew out manic nonsense like nobody but I can. After a while, Peg got tired of hearing the ranting of an old drunk and muscled her way into the conversation, telling me to shut up. It stunned me when she then said that she didn't care about the booze.

She then went on to say that she was disappointed by the fact that I was going to go into the mensroom in the lobby to tie one on, because it would have meant the end of our friendship, Beej. When I asked her exactly what that meant; Peg told me about how for a little over a year at that point, you were becoming increasingly more agitated with my weakness for spirits. According to her, if you saw or suspected that I was drinking that weekend, you were going to cut all ties with me on the spot. She said that before you left for the airport back home, the two of you had a monstrous argument about me. Peg tried to convince you to change your mind, stating that it was unreasonable for you to expect me to get through such a dark weekend without having a drink or two. Moreover, she drove home the point that it would be more than a shame for us to fall out because of a disease that I couldn't control. From what Peg told me, there was nothing on the planet that was going to make you change your mind.

If I got drunk in Philly, that was that. Everything we shared whilst in Korea and after the war would be null and void, and there would be no chance of reconciliation.

My jaw damn near scraped the floor when I finally processed what Peg had just disclosed to me. I was hurt, confused, shameful, and brimming with rage all at once. For some reason, my body had decided for the second time that day that the appropriate response to feeling like a deer in headlights, was to bawl like a baby.

Peg pulled me close and let my hot, salty tears fall onto her soft chest, while she stroked my back in an attempt to comfort me. After a minute or so, I was able to get control of myself and sniffed back my sobs as I pulled away from her.

I then thanked Peg for stopping me from drinking, and told her that mere words couldn't even begin what it meant to me that she cared about my wellbeing… that anybody cared about me.

I then began to explain that I had sensed for a while that you were beginning to be fed up with your best friend being an uncontrollable drunk, and also about how much I hated myself for what I had turned into after coming home from Korea.

Peg told me that she understood that my need for alcohol wasn't my fault, that she knew how much I was hurting after Margaret left and how my depression took another nosedive after Dad passed away. She said that she knew all about what an alcoholic feels and that no matter what they do – they can never shake the urge to scratch that itch and have a drink. Apparently growing up her Mother struggled with alcohol.

I couldn't help but to express my utmost relief that what I was feeling wasn't just because I was a special form of a screwball. I then went on to vent about how lost and angry I had been since coming home from Korea, and how I was righteously pissed off about the shitty hand I was dealt since leaving the service.

Peg and I then went back and forth talking about my problems, and the issues that you are her were having with your marriage. She said that lately you were becoming increasingly distant and snarky at home. She tried to find out what was bugging you, but you just wouldn't budge; like you were withholding a huge secret. I asked her what you thought such a secret might be. You see BJ, this is where things started to get messy… her reply was that she thought you were having an affair with the head nurse in the general surgery department of the hospital you were working at.

It was now Peg's turn to burst into tears as she told me all about how she felt she was lousy wife. She then went on to say that she deserved to be cheated on because she had let her looks go, and put being a good Mother and an exemplary homemaker before the needs of your relationship. She wasn't fulfilling the vow she had made to you on your wedding day to tend to your needs as her husband.

I told her that she was absolutely crazy to think that she had let herself go, and that she deserved to be cheated on. Furthermore, I told her that if you were cheating on her – you should be locked in a padded cell and have the key thrown away.

Somehow through our innocent embrace of comfort; our lips suddenly met and before within seconds I found myself doing something that I never would have imagined myself doing in a million years… making love to your wife.

That's right Beej – I was one hundred percent, stone cold sober when I decided to tear your world apart. It wasn't the alcohol… just my own pathetic self.

God, if I would have known what would have after that; I would have never allowed myself to succumb to my primal need to lie with a woman. I was just so damn lonely, Beej. I think there was maybe two other times between the time Margaret left me, and that incident with Peg, that I had made love.

Exactly three months to the day, I awoke at nine am on my living room floor with a bottle on my stomach. As per usual, my head was pounding out the 1812 overture and my mouth felt like I had been sitting with my mouth open in a dentist's chair for a year straight. There was also some moron, obsessively pounding on my front door.

I begrudgingly scraped my sorry self off of the floor, and stumbled toward the front door. When I opened it, I didn't even have a chance to speak before you bent over like an angry steer and rammed my body into the banister of the staircase. I collapsed onto the floor and you straddled my hips and began to beat the living shit out of me.

After your adrenaline had worn off and my face was a swollen, bloody mess – you collapsed to the side and laid down on the floor out of pure exhaustion.

I am not sure how long we lay on the floor in silence, before I finally asked you the simple question of, _"why"._

The image of what you proceeded to describe, still haunts me to to this very day... You said that your surgery been cancelled, so you decided to go home for your lunch hour, early. You walked into the house and called for Peg, but there was no reply. Getting worried that something might be wrong, you then went through the house frantically looking for her. When you opened the door to the bathroom connected to yours and Peg's master bedroom, you were beyond astonished by the sight in front of you.

Peg was naked, slumped up against the corner where the bathtub and met the wall, with a bottle of Jim Beam bourbon in hand. There was a fair sized pool of dark blood pooled beneath her bottom. Between her legs sat a bent out of shape wire coat hanger.

She looked up at you through her glassy, red rimmed eyes and simply said that she was sorry. You immediately scooped her up into your arms and threw her into the back seat of your bright orange Chevrolet car and sped her to the hospital.

About ten hours later, Peg had come out of sedation from her surgery to stop the hemorrhaging in her uterus. In a bout of tearful remorse, she confessed about what happened between her and me in Philadelphia three months prior. She told you that it had to have been my child, because, it had been a little over seven months since you and her had been in bed together.

After Peg recovered, and you returned home from out little visit; was when I suppose you filed for divorce.

I've never heard from Peg since that one weekend. I hope that wherever she is that she has found some happiness in life.

I know that my apology probably doesn't mean anything all these years later… but I am so sorry.

In one brief moment of ill judgement, I managed to throw away the beautiful gift that was our friendship; destroy your marriage; and cause Erin to have to deal with growing up in a broken home.

I know that throughout this letter I have mentioned God a few times. Seeing as how I was such a skeptic of a divine creator in Korea – and pretty much my entire life – it must seem odd. But you know as well as I do, that it is very common for terminal patients to suddenly embrace faith. When I was still in practise, I never knew the most hardened skeptics would suddenly wake up one day and decide to believe in God. Now on the other end of the spectrum, I now know that lying in a hospital bed with nothing much to do except look back on the course of your life; is more than enough to scare anybody into believing that there has to be more than what's in front of us on Earth.

If I really do end up looking the big guy in the eye and having to account for my Earthly sins; I am sure what I did to you and your family would be on the top of the list. Heck, it is probably enough for the big lever to be pulled and send me plummeting into the fire filled void that is Hell.

If you have managed to get to this point in this ridiculously long letter (I think Sidney's wrist is about to fall off), I want to finish off by saying a few more things.

The first being that I hope you and Erin go on to live for many more years to come in prosperity and happiness. You both deserve to.

Secondly, your friendship in Korea and up until its ugly demise was truly one of the greatest blessings I have ever received. During my breakdown at the end of the war, you allowed me to lean on you until I got back to my usual state of abnormal. We laughed, we cried, we screamed at each other, and beat the shit out of one another, too. Thank you for making yourself available for me. You are one in a billion, Beej.

Finally, I want you to know that if I am granted passage through those Pearly Gates; I'll make sure watch over you and Erin, as well as Peg.

Living in Korea, all of the death taught me just how important it to connect with other human beings on a deep level. In such a dark place, I was able to find you – a soul that helped me through what I thought at the time would be the darkest period in my life.

Thank you BJ… I'll never forget you and the joy you brought to me and all of the people stuck at the 4077th in a confusing time and place.

It was an outstanding honour and privilege to have been your best friend.

With all my love,

" _Hawkeye"_ Benjamin Franklin Pierce

* * *

 **A/N: Hi there. I would like to apologize for falling off the Earth here. I had quit my job and had been obsessively scrambling to finish my Math course before my deadline. And then right now I have been studying for my diploma exam on the 24th :/**

 **Yes this chapter is quite a bit longer than the others, but I felt like it needed to be, because come on people – this is BJ and Hawkeye we are talking about here.**

 **I hope why BJ and Hawkeye had a falling out makes sense now. The only thing logical in my mind for those two to break up would be for Hawkeye to hurt BJ's family somehow.**

 **I'd just like to state that Peg doing what she did in the bathroom isn't intended to be a persuasive bit about what stance a person on abortion one way or another. As tragic as it was for Peg to do what she did to herself, it was a sad reality of the time period. I added it in to add an element of context and depth of the seriousness of the situation she found herself in as a married woman who had cheated and become pregnant with another man's baby in 1960's, North America.**

 **I really hope that in this I accurately portrayed the nature of Bj's and Hawk's relationship.**

 **Thank you for taking time out of your day to read!**


	10. Margaret

To the one whom I love,

This is Hawkeye Pierce coming to you from a hospital somewhere in the U.S.A.

Yes, I know that it has been a very long time since the last we've spoken. One day away from you, let alone eighteen years, is far too long to be separated from you.

My dear Margaret… boy what a rough road life has been for us. I am not sure if your husband has told you or not, but my liver could crap out at any given moment. Yes that's right, my "deplorable tendency" as you so often referred to my alcoholism as, has finally brought me to death's door step.

Over the past few days, I've been frantically trying to get letters written and mailed out those whom I love the most on this planet. Through these letters, I've tried to make amends for the sheer disappointment and hurt my addiction, as well as my sober actions have caused. I started off writing to Radar, then Charles, Trapper, Colonel Potter, Klinger, Sidney and even BJ. The last on this list is you. Don't worry being last is a good thing. I saved you for last because out of all of the people I have just listed above – I love you the most.

Do you remember the first time we met? I certainly do.

It was in Colonel Blake's office, right after I had just arrived at the 4077th. You, Frank, Trapper, Spearchucker and Henry were all waiting to get a look at the new surgeon who would be joining the circus.

It's no national secret that I have an ego the size of Texas; but in that very moment, I felt as self-conscious and afraid, as a shell-less turtle. Before my chopper landed at the 4077th, the pilot had to make an emergency landing because a lone sniper decided to open fire on us. (If that isn't a wakeup call that I was actually in an active warzone – then I don't know what is!)

The second I walked through those swinging wooden doors, all five sets of eyes immediately snapped in my direction. I thought to myself that this was what high society ladies back in the Victorian age must have felt like, when they were first presented to society after coming of age.

Finally, after an awkward silence that seemed to last the length of one of the Lutheran church services which my Grandmother used to drag me to as child – Radar cleared his throat and officially presented me to Colonel Blake. Before Henry could have a chance to spit out a syllable, you and Frank stood up from your chairs and rushed me. Each of you, grabbed one of my hands and shook it, saying how you hope I don't succumb to the lack of discipline and overall moral perversion that is exemplified under the Colonel's command.

If I hadn't just almost have gotten my ass shot off in the chopper and still wasn't in a state of shock; I would have laughed until my face turned blue from lack of oxygen, and my gut hurt so bad that it'd look like I had appendicitis. Instead, I simply muttered a mere "thanks".

The tense and overly formal mood was immediately broken when none other than "Trapper" John McIntyre, stepped forward and shook my hand. The words he said were the ones that built the foundation for the friendship to come. He said, _"Don't mind Hot Lips coming on so strong – she's just running out of options in the camp. There was an official poll taken by the guys in motor supply, and nobody is G.I. enough for her except ole' Ferret Face over there."_

Next thing I heard was the most outraged gasp I had ever heard in my entire life, escape your larynx. You then went on to try an refute Trapper's insult; but this was one of those times that you were so mad that you could only articulate the first syllables of words, so what came out of your mouth of gibberish.

Being the asshole I was – I began to laugh like a hyena at the bizarre scenario. I wondered what kind of nut farm I had fallen into. Moreover, I knew that if this was only the first five minutes at the 4077th – I'd fit in perfectly fine.

For the rest of 50' and half of 51' – this ludicrous pattern of Trapper and I, verses you and Frank – continued on. Trap and I did everything from rig yours and Frank's dates up for failure, to putting Frank in a full body cast and suspend him from the ceiling, and running all of your underwear up the flagpole at revelry.

You and Frank hated us so much for making your lives hell. Looking back on it now, there were a handful of times we went too far, like when we broadcasted yours and Frank's breakup speech to the entire camp over the P.A. system. But I suppose that you got over that stuff because you ended up marrying not just me, but Trap as well…

During that whirlwind period of the ceaseless practical jokes, glimmers of your true personality shone through at times.

Remember the time that the entire camp was down with the flu, and you and I, Mulcahy, Radar and a few nurses were the only ones left standing? At that time we were undoubtedly sworn enemies – but we worked together to deal with the casualties and keep the 4077th running as best we could. You handled all of the administration stuff that Henry usually dealt with, while I attempted to deal with busloads of casualties by myself.

You injected my rump with a serum that the dunderheads at I-Core thought would prevent the flu. It ended up giving the flu – not curing it. Both of us should have known better than to trust anything that to trust I-Core says. Right after my symptoms set in, Radar got word that a mess of casualties were coming in by chopper. I think he asked permission to lend a jeep to battalion aid, or something like that. (My memory isn't what it used to be). This was one of those rare occasions where I out yelled you, and actually got Radar to do as I ordered.

Henry Blake used to harp that you and Burns went over his head so many times to General Clayton, that his head athlete's scalp. Let me tell you, he wasn't the only one who felt that way back in the day.

I remember one time while me and Trapper were getting a buzz on, we tried to recall the number of times that you and ole' ferret face tried to get us arrested. Let's just say between the two of us we ran out of fingers and toes...

Anyways, back to the point of our little trip down memory lane. When I told you that I was sick, your response of genuine concern floored me. I realized that there was actually more to your personality than just "Hot Lips" and "Major Houlihan".

The next time that we were forced to work as equals, was the first time you and I ever went up to the front, to help out Battalion Aid. Their surgeon had been killed and the casualties just kept on coming. Klinger of all people was selected at random to come along as out corpsmen. Even though we were such a motley trio – we ended up working like a well-oiled machine that night once the deluge had finally ended, you and I were huddled up together to conserve our body heat. As we ate our World War Two surplus beans in silence, I found myself somewhat surprised that I enjoyed your soft, warm body pressed up against mine. After we finished our meal (if you could even classify what we ate as food), you asked me if I thought there were snipers close by. I replied back with some sort of sarcastic, but not snide, remark. When I saw the paranoid expression on your face, I felt like a piece of shit. Quick to do damage control, I promptly wrapped my arms around you and told you that _"chivalry wasn't dead – it's just replaced by exhaustion."_

At the time I didn't even have to think twice about it. You needed to feel protected, and it was my job as a man, and as your friend to do so.

That's right. Even way back then, despite our ongoing rivalry, I considered you my friend, Margaret. Well wait, scratch that. Maybe not friends per say. You were more along the lines of a fond acquaintance.

The next day when we got back to camp, we were forced to return to our assigned roles of being the neurotic head nurse and the unruly, draftee doctor. Our dance of ridiculousness continued, but we were changed people. We experienced what pure terror and helplessness felt like – together. Now I don't know about you, looking back on it, that sure had a hell of a an impact on me.

Almost a half a year passed after that. Henry passed away, Trapper left shortly afterwards, and then finally after four more grueling months – Frank finally left the 4077th for good.

Then along came the era of BJ Hunnicutt, Colonel Potter and Charles. It wasn't long after we were blessed with that aristocratic, hairless parsnip Charles that our lives were changed forever. No I'm not talking about how we were stuck working with a surgeon who had an ego the size of Texas, for the rest of the war. I'm referring to those fateful two days wherein we were trapped behind enemy lines.

At that time, your marriage Donald dumb-face, was on its last legs. Right before we departed from the 4077th, you received a letter from him that really had you hackles up. I was surly because I was stuck with you, instead of taking Bigelow along to the 8063rd like I had wanted to.

By this point of the war we we're both veterans, so, a little trip over to a neighbouring M*A*S*H unit wasn't a big deal at all. It was just routine, everyday life in a warzone to us.

On the way there, the North Koreans began shelling the main road we were on. Chaos ensued as your khaki coloured blood kicked into high gear. You ordered me to drive on ahead because if I kept reversing, we would surely get wounded, or worse. Panic overtook me and I did as I was told. We escaped the shelling, but once we arrived at the 8063rd we realized that a bit of shellfire was the least of our troubles… They had bugged out, which meant that we were behind enemy lines.

After losing our jeep to some more mechanically inclined North Koreans, we found shelter in an abandoned house. One failed rescue attempt of an wounded solider and a bout of shellfire later – I got a chunk of wood stuck in my leg. After you removed the fragment from my leg, we were both so fed up with the day that we decided to share the bottle of cheap Japanese scotch I brought along.

Finally, after enough prodding and a few stiff belts, I got you to open up about what was in that letter that made you so damn angry. After you told me about the stupid stunt Penobscot pulled, I put my foot in my mouth again and said something completely stupid. The usual course of us bickering and sarcastically commenting to one another ensued, before we finished the bottle and went decided to go to sleep. You opted to sleep far away from me. I certainly did not protest.

A few moments later, it seemed like the entire world suddenly was exploding. The North Koreans had no mercy during this round of shelling. The screams of horror that came from your mouth still give me chills to this day. Your nerves, not to mention mine, were so frayed at that point – all defenses of ego and propriety were abandoned.

When I took you into my arms and held onto for dear life, something happened inside of me. The fickle feeling of affection that was seeding in my heart, bloomed into a mysterious and wonderful flower. My heart started to control my actions, rather than my brain.

I know I don't need to tell you what happened next. Believe me, I for one have never forgotten. And just think Margaret, that was only the beginning of our mind-blowing career in love making. Wait! Maybe it would be more appropriate to call that our Saturday matinee debut, now that I think about how awkwardly horrifying, the morning after was for both of us. Oh yeah, and then how almost slapped the skin right off of my face in front of the entire 4077th. But that night after I told Beej about what happened to us behind enemy lines, I came to visit you in your tent. Good ole' Beej, being the level headed man he is, made me realized that I wasn't angry or ashamed that we spent a night in each others arms. Rather, I was petrified that I actually felt genuine feelings of affection toward you.

Once you let me into your tent, yet another argument ensued. After we both had the chance for our tempers to flare, finally came to an accord. In an unspoken way, we both agreed that underneath the concrete wall of our stubbornness, we did care for one another more than we wanted to admit.

Despite that turning point in our lives, things did go back to normal afterwards at the 4077th. I still kept on chasing nurses, and you kept on fighting with Donald for awhile – that is of course until he ran out on you and moved to San Francisco.

The for the rest of the war, our relationship dynamic began to change gradually. We were no longer at each others throats twenty-four hours a day. Instead it was more like twelve hours of the day. All joking aside, it really did change. We became friends. When the war got to rough, we leaned on each other from time to time.

Like for instance that awful ordeal when Potter decided that it would be a swell idea to hide out in a cave, to escape the artillery crossfire the camp was caught in. We were scared as hell when we had to take a critical case back to the 4077th, but just like at the aid station and behind enemy lines – we helped one another overcome living through our worst phobia. Mine was claustrophobia and yours (which still makes me chuckle to this day considering the career avenue you picked at the time) was sudden loud noises.

Hey, remember April Fools day of 53? Boy that was all out, practical joking warfare! I still haven't forgotten the look on your face after Charles, BJ and I stole the canvas of your tent! Then to top it all off, I placed that old skeleton model skeleton that Henry had in his office back in the day, and placed it under the covers of my bed. There were only a few times up to that point that I had managed to piss you off to the point of being speechless. I was sure proud of myself asshole-self that night for hatching that scheme!

God that was sure hilarious the following night, when we dumped that barrel of beer all over Potter's friend Tucker – who at that time was posing as a khaki Godzilla who was ready to bust all of us tricksters down to our socks. Tucker was really just a part of the Colonel's April Fools joke, but that's beside the point. Only eight months before that, never in a million years would I ever have thought you would engage in such debauchery with me. You have no idea how proud you made me that night!

A few months and a monstrous mental breakdown later, we found ourselves standing in the compound of the sewer we had both called home, for over almost three years, for the very last time. When it finally came time for me to say goodbye…I just couldn't bring myself to utter that melancholy inducing word.

For a long time, I couldn't figure our afterwards why decided to give you the most passionate, emotional kiss in my life. That being said, a few days after the first time Sidney Freedman's first visit with in Crabapple Cove – I came to an eye opening realization. I kissed you because the feelings that started in that bombed out hut, behind enemy lines, grew to the point that I just couldn't suppress them anymore. I subconsciously made sure that every feeling of affection, every ounce of admiration that I held for you, was made apparent in that kiss.

I realized that I was in love with you Margaret… really, truly, head over heels in love.

I remember that moment like it was yesterday. It was about six in the evening and I was sitting outside on the front porch with a flask of scotch in hand, waiting for Dad to finish cooking dinner. Once my brain finally wrapped itself around what my heart was screaming; I did something that was only going to happen a handful of days later on. I set down the poison that was soon to consume my life.

I ran inside the house like a mad man, and rushed into the kitchen to the phone that hung right beside the stove where my dad was standing. I frantically banged on the receiver of the phone until an operator clicked in. As I held the phone in my hand, I notice that not just my hand, but my whole body was shaking like somebody had just tried to electrocute me. But I didn't care – I knew that if I didn't call you right then and there, I would probably never would.

After a series of transfers, I finally reached you at the hospital in Atlanta you were working at. When I heard your voice, all of my nerves, depression, and PTSD that had piled up inside of my chest since the end of the war, vanished into thin air. My old charming, smug, tone that used to drive you so crazy rung out like a songbird as I asked if you would come out to visit me as soon as possible. I even offered to pay for your plane tickets if I remember correctly. Anyways, after mindless, nervous, small talk for a few minutes, you had to hang up. Once you did, I slowly removed the phone from my ear and gently hung it back up. I was grinning so hard that I'm surprised I didn't pull muscle or I turned my head to my right though, I realized that my Dad had just witnessed my entire bout of insanity and my expression changed into one of worry, over what he might be thinking.

With a straight face, he asked me if we were about to have another visitor, in his calm, yet dry tone he always had. When I said yes, a smile spread across his face as he went back to stirring whatever was on the stove. Nervously, I asked him what on Earth he was smirking about. His response was classic Dad. He told me that it was about damn time I realized that was in love with you, and that if I had figured it out any slower he would have flown you out to Maine himself.

I stood there speechless and in awe. Apparently, my feelings for you were really a lot more blatant than I had assumed. It made me chuckled when Dad's observations were confirmed numerous times afterwards, in the speeches at our wedding.

It seems like that by the end of the war, everybody at the 4077th knew that – expect for us of course!

Anyways, fast forward through our whirlwind courtship and the biggest party Crabapple Cove had ever witnessed (which is our wedding of course), and we get to the honeymoon. I must admit it was odd to be back in Hawaii as civilians, but we soon forgot all about that the second we opened the door to our hotel room. That was… well you know our honeymoon went – I know I never have.

That was the first and probably the last time, we were ever truly happy as a married couple. Once we got back to Maine and moved into a house of our own; I fell back into old habits.

My nightmares about the war continued, and so did my sleepless nights.

At first it was just a martini with dinner, then maybe one or two afterwards before bed. Then two became three, and then I also thought I needed to drink some scotch to help me go to sleep. The quantity of alcohol just became larger until the point that I was chugging a half a bottle of scotch in the bathroom, before I brushed my teeth and joined you in our bed.

By that point, we were fighting almost the entire time we were not at work. If it wasn't about my nighttime routine, it was about the money I was throwing away after work at the bar and at the liquor store.

Something begin to change during the summer of 55'. Your demeanor was rapidly changing into a woman that wasn't the wife of a drunkard. The anger and sorrow in your eyes had seemed to dissipate. When I would come home from the bar at 3am on Saturday's, you weren't waiting up in your chair in the living room as per usual. You stopped reminding me that people in Crabapple Cove were beginning to coin me as the town drunkard. Most of all, you began to write letters to your old friend from " _nursing school_ " almost everyday. That friend being your now lawfully wedded husband, McIntyre.

If I wasn't red faced for the ninety-five percent of my life outside of work, I probably would have realized that you were cheating on me. Hell, maybe you wouldn't have even felt that you needed to seek the love you craved so much, from a man that wasn't me.

Margaret, you knew me better than anyone on the planet – including BJ. When Dad passed away on Christmas Eve of that year, you had to have known how much it tore me apart.

Dammit Margaret! I thought you knew that nobody or nothing – not even _the bottle _ – could have given me comfort the way your love could have… Exactly two weeks later, the night that marked the decline of my life happened. Only two fucking weeks after I lost my Dad, you left me for that piece of shit I once called my best friend.

My god, I was such a god mess that entire winter. I halfway remember calling Sidney the afternoon after you walked out on me, (I was still somewhat drunk at the time), crying like a child into the phone. Twelve hours later and I was hammered again, so I forgot about what even happened that afternoon. I was sure surprised when I opened my front door to see him standing there, alongside Radar O'Reilly to the right of him. Both had a determined look on their face, and a suitcase in each of their hands.

For the next week, the two of them made sure I didn't kill myself with alcohol poisoning... or by any other means. They sat up with me, and helped me through what I now realize was the process of grief. First I was in shock, then denial, and then I became so angry. Along with the anger came the depression that has haunted me ever since.

Sidney had to fly back to Philadelphia because of his practice after his week was up, which was totally understandable. Radar on the other hand, elected to move in with me for a few months, to help me get back up onto my feet. I honestly couldn't believe that a man with a beautiful wife and a five children would drop everything on a dime, to take care of an aging, alcoholic, louse like myself… but he did. So, I gave it my all and kept my promises to him and Sidney that I would cut back on the booze. And you know what? I honest to god was able to cut down to only a martini a night. For a solid month I was even stone cold sober. I bet you don't believe that, but it's true!

Come March, Radar moved back to Iowa to resume his own life, and left me to my own devices. Well for the first few days I was okay. But come the fifth night knowing that I was truly alone with nobody left in the town, let alone the state of Maine, who truly cared for me – I broke my promise. I started to resume the nighttime routine, that led to the ruin of our marriage.

When Sidney, and other's like Radar and Beej called me up, asking how I was doing, I lied through my teeth saying that I was still off the wagon.

My wall of deceit came crumbling down though, when I showed up to the first 4077th reunion.

For a week before, I tried and basically succeeded in drying myself out. I didn't want to let everyone down and show them what a failure I had become by showing up plastered. I promised myself that I would only have two single scotch on the rocks in my hotel room for a bracer, before I headed downstairs for the dinner. By the second drink, the gears in my mind starting grinding and it hit me that I was going to have to see you hung off McIntyre's arm as his new trophy wife. Two small drinks quickly turned into me chugging a third of the bottle. By the time I had finally made it downstairs – I had already missed dinner and the start of the toasts. Well, I'm sure you can imagine how the rest of the night went. I won't bore you with the details.

I never tried to stop drinking after that – except for the weekend of Mulcahy's funeral. But I'm sure you heard through the grapevine how monumentally I screwed that weekend up to...

Alcohol has been, and always will be my Achilles heel.

As a medical professional, and the former wife of and addict – I don't need to tell you how my destructive behaviour has hurt and destroyed everything that I once loved and cherished in my life.

Believe me Margaret, when I say that I tried every which way I knew how to, to stop drinking. You must know that when I tell you that looking back on it all now, that not even you – the love of my life and my soulmate – was enough to silence the demon that lurks beneath my skin.

To this very day, every part of my body and soul yearns for you. It tore me apart when you decided to leave me for McIntyre. Knowing that I have lost your love and respect hurts me so much, that no words exist to describe my agony. My physical body rotting away is less painful than the heartache you left me with.

In the package you'll receive with this letter, I've included a record that describes more poignantly than I ever possibly can, about how life without you at my side has been.

Every time I'd start to drink, I thought about you and how much you hurt me. I used to fantasize though, about you suddenly leaving McIntrye and coming back to be with me. I thought that if would have actually come back to me, sobriety would have been possible. I would have been able to ditch the bottle for good and truly appreciate spending every day, of the rest of my life with you. When my doctor gave me the news six months ago, that there was nothing more he could do for me or my liver – the lightbulb finally went off in my scrambled brain.

Even if my fools hope of being reunited with you would have happened, nothing would have changed in the long run. Instead of dying in my fifties – I would have died in my late sixties, possibly even in my early seventies. Heck maybe that wouldn't have even been the case. Chances are, I probably still would have still ended up in this hospital bed that I'm in right now.

I've been in this hospital for a few weeks now, and I only have a day or two left on this planet before I meet my maker. Do you really want to know something? For the first time, since the I frantically called you up that day when I realized that I loved you – I finally feel like I am being honest with myself. Like I said earlier, I've made my amends with the those whom I love the most. I know that there is no way I can repent for all of my earthly sins, but I do have peace of mind now. All of the baggage I have been carrying around is finally free, once this letter is finished.

Sidney Freedman has been a blessing throughout these last years of my life. I don't know why he kept on coming around, but he did. Even now at the end of all things, he's sitting here beside me, helping me write this letter to you. I am so happy that I am not going to death alone. There two others here from our past that we both know, but I don't want to name names. I don't want you to see me in this pathetic state, Margaret.

I am so, so sorry, for the immeasurable amount pain I have caused you after the war. Never in a million years would I ever have consciously wanted to cause you any type of harm.

Please don't feel sad for me, or dwell on the past to much. Don't forget to smile, and always remember enjoy the little things in life. Love your daughters that you and Trapper John have brought into this world. Live each day like it's your last. Most importantly, don't forget to tell those whom you love the most, how much you do actually love them.

I know that after how I treated you while we were married, that there probably isn't much affection - if any - left inside of you for me. It'd make me smile though, to know that there is still some love left in your heart for me. Looking back on this letter, I know that my bitterness surrounding what happened at the end of our marriage, has shone through. You need to understand that there is no way I can close this letter, without out letting you know that I love you now as much as I did, on that sunny summer day when took our vows.

In my eyes, you are the most compassionate, beautiful, intelligent, incredible woman that God has ever created. To be able to call you my wife for even a few years, was the greatest joy, honour and blessing ever bestowed upon me.

If by some loophole in the system up in the sky I manage to get a pair of wings after I'm gone, I want you to know that I will watch over you and your family. May God bless you for all the years you have left on this earth.

It's been one hell of a bumpy ride, but I guess it's finally time now to take my bow and bid you a fond farewell. I will love you with all my heart and soul, for all of eternity.

Goodbye, Margaret Houlihan.

Love,

 _"Hawkeye_ " Benjamin Franklin Pierce


	11. Those whom he Loves

"Love, Hawkeye Benjamin Franklin Pierce."

As Sidney softly set his pen down onto the paper pad, he looked up from the letter for the first time since he began writing it. He wasn't surprised to see that his eyes, weren't the only ones dampened by tears. Charles, who was sitting in an arm chair on the opposite side of Hawkeye's bed, had glistening tears slowly trickling down his cheeks.

Sidney was surprised, though, to see a contented smile on Hawkeye's face. He expected a look of complete exhaustion and anguish.

Hearing the sniffles of his two friends beside him; Hawkeye turned his head to look at both of them. His smile quickly disappeared after noting their sorrowful and sympathetic expressions. He wanted to tell them to cut it out, but the words just didn't seem to roll off his tongue.

It felt like there were ten thousand pounds of weight lifted off of his heart. He finally did it. After endless years of mental torment, he had finally gained some peace of mind.

"Hawkeye," Charles clearing his throat prompted Hawkeye to turn his head in his direction. "that is without question, one the most, poignant, beautiful, love letters ever written."

Hawkeye furrowed his brow at the Bostonian and replied, "I don't know what to say to that Charles…"

His eyes were becoming heavy with sleep once again. Before he nodded off, he mumbled to Sidney, while still facing Charles, "You make sure Margaret gets that letter, Sid. Minnie should be back with that record any minute now."

And with that Hawkeye was out like a light. The slow rise and fall of his chest told his friends that he hadn't closed his eyes the last time. For a moment, both men just sat and stared at their dying friend.

Finally, Charles broke the heavy silence, "He doesn't know that she works here, does he?"

"No," Sidney shook his head slowly. "no he does not."

The same question was on both of their minds – should they break the promise they made to Hawk and told Margaret where he is?

Before anything else could be said, the soft pitter-pattering of nursing shoes approaching the doorway signalled that Molly was back from the record store down the street. She stopped cold when she saw the two doctor's puffy and red eyes, and Hawkeye seemingly lifeless form. With a shaky tone and she warily asked, "Is he-"

"No," Sidney responded rather sharply, not letting her finish her sentence. He immediately recognised how forceful and cold his tone was. Apparently, his emotions weren't completely under control like he had thought. He went on and explained further in his usual, calmer demeanour, "No sweetie, he just needs to rest for a bit."

Molly breathed a sigh of relief and proceeded slowly and quietly into the dimly lit room. She handed the brown paper wrapped record to Sidney, and said, "I got exactly what he wanted. Though it wasn't easy…" She glanced over her at Hawkeye before continuing, "Did he finish it? I mean did he go through with it and write to his ex-wife?"

Sidney smiled held up the yellow pad of paper in his hand.

Molly nodded slowly and walked up to Sidney, as he carefully tore off all nineteen sheets of paper. Sidney reached behind him and grabbed the already stamped and addressed envelope off of the nightstand. After folding and stuffing the pages into the envelope, he stood up and extended his hand to give the letter to Molly. He, however, changed his mind abruptly and recoiled his arm from the young nurse.

"Actually, on second thought, I can make sure this and that package gets to the right hands. I'm sure you have some other patients you need to check up on," Sidney stated, noting the baffled expression on Molly's face.

The young nurse had the feeling that she was being lied to but kept her thoughts to herself. Sidney was one of Hawkeye's dearest friends, if he wanted to do this one last thing for him – it was his right to do so.

"Here," Molly said as she handed over the package to Sidney. "Thanks for doing that. I should check up on my other patients; then I am going to give my Mom a call. She wanted to go home for a bit. Do you think he'd mind if my Mom were here too until… you know? I know she'd like to, even though she'll never admit it..."

Sidney found his eyes beginning to well up again, at the mention of Hawkeye eventually passing. He put that thought aside for the time being as his professional training kicked in, and he managed to smile and say, "Of course you can call her."

"In fact," Charles spoke up, and he got up from his chair and walked over to stand beside Sidney, "tell your dear Mother that her presence is necessary."

The young nurse scanned the expressions of both doctor's faces for confirmation, before slowing nodding, turning around and leaving the room.

Once the click-clack of her nursing shoes was no longer audible, Charles and Sidney turned to face one another. They both knew what each other was thinking, but dared not speak it in Hawkeye's room. Charles flicked his head towards to doorway, signalling that they should leave the room. Sidney nodded and followed the surgeon out into the hallway.

"You aren't going to let some stranger deliver this to Margaret, are you?" Charles asked so passionately that his question almost sounded like an accusation.

A small smile slowly spread across Sidney's lips. He shook his head slowly and replied, "No – no I'm not. I've known for years now, that one of the reasons as to why Hawkeye has kept on drinking, was the fear of dying alone. Even now his pride won't let him admit it – but he is terrified. If Margaret reads this and wants to be here with him, I think that would bring him more peace than just having us by his side."

"You always knew what to do, Hawkeye when nobody else could," Charles remarked. He grimaced from the immediate realisation that he had just referred to Hawkeye in past tense.

Sidney looked down to his feet, put his hands in the pockets of his slacks and nodded.

"I hope so..."

Charles recognised the sound of guilt in the psychiatrist's voice. He was aware that this couldn't be easy for Sidney at all. For many years, all Hawkeye had was Sidney. Just like Hawkeye had told Margaret, in the letter Sidney was holding – his addiction had driven everybody who cared about him away, except for Sidney. Charles knew that there were no words that could console him, so he decided to change the subject to one that hopefully would be less grim.

"How did your phone calls from before go, by the way?"

Sidney couldn't help but smile, "Three of them were a success. Not sure about the fourth, though."

Charles nodded, as he confirmed his suspicions, "California?"

"Yes."

"Well, I guess we will just have to wait and see."

* * *

Margaret Houlihan was having a relatively normal, Tuesday. She got up at 5:30 am, made coffee and got the eggs started for John and the girls. After waking up her daughters, they all had breakfast at the table like every other family on their street. John was the first to leave for his surgical shift. After kissing her husband goodbye, she ushered the girls back upstairs to change, wash their face, and style their hair. After giving them their lunches of cucumber salad, tuna and crackers – she kissed both of them on the head and ushered them out the door to catch the bus. Once she was finally alone in the house, she went about her usual morning routine and left for work. Once at the hospital, Margaret went about her routine in the paediatric ward. After her morning rounds, she was on her way back to the nurse's station, when she ran into an old nurse of hers – Shelly Bigelow.

Obviously surprised by the chance meeting, Margaret immediately asked what Bigelow was doing in Boston.

Bigelow furrowed her brow and shook her head in disapproval after the initial shock wore off.

"I thought that you of all people would know, or at least be there. Have you no empathy at all?"

The former Lieutenant's harsh words struck a nerve in Margaret. Her gut told her that there was some truth behind her defensive rhetoric. The odd encounter was ever present in her mind as Margaret continued with her day. She kept going over the time they served together at the 4077th. Had she somehow offended Bigelow to the point that she avoided the unit reunions? She was tough on the World War Two veteran, but only because she knew that Bigelow could handle it.

Lunch time eventually came around, which gave Margaret reprieve to her thoughts about Bigelow. Margaret went to the cafeteria and grabbed her lunch. She then proceeded to sit at her and Trapper's usual table in the far right corner of the cafeteria.

As per usual, Trapper joined her about five minutes after noon. He had a sour look on his face, though, as she sat down in the chair across from her. His brown eyes were black with fury as he slammed the plastic tray down onto the table, and glared at his wife.

"What's wrong?" Margaret asked in an even tone. She had been married to him long enough to know not to provoke Trapper when he looks as he did at that moment.

"Nothing," Trapper mumbled as he bit into his hamburger.

Margaret's temper snapped at her husband's behaviour. Ever since he had come home from work the night before, Trapper had barely spoken a word to her. He did, however, glare at her like she was medusa's spawn.

"Alright, that's it!" Margaret raised her voice and dropped her fork dramatically onto her plate. "What happened to make you act like an immature toddler towards me? I demand an answer, John."

Trapper narrowed his gaze at her. He took a moment to decide on how carefully word his response, "If you really must know, ask that ignorant asshole Winchester. The man's about as impersonal as a piece of furniture, and he calls me a lowlife. He had the audacity to call me a lousy husband when the man doesn't see his own wife for more than six hours out of a week."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm not doing this, Margaret. If you really must know, go find him." Trapper grumbled as he picked up his untouched tray and walked away.

As she watched her husband walk away, she noticed several pairs of eyes on her. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment for a moment, before she decided that her lunch break was over as well.

Something was off, really off today. Margaret had to track down Charles and get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

* * *

A tugging sensation on his abdomen awoke Hawkeye from his nap. He turned his head to the right slightly to see Molly changing the drain and fluid collection bag for his liver drainage. His liver had lost the ability to filter out waste products properly, which resulted in fluid accumulation in this abdomen. Even before he had entered the hospital for his last time, he had to make routine trips to the hospital to have the fluid drained. It had a brownish tinge to it and smelled as foul as month old sardines.

"Minnie," Hawkeye mumbled to let his nurse know that he was obviously still with the living.

Molly Bigelow looked up from what she was doing and smiled in relief at Hawkeye. His liver function, lung function and blood levels were starting to deteriorate at a steady pace. It wouldn't be long before he slipped into a coma and his would begin to shut down.

"Hi, Hawkeye. How are you feeling?"

"Alive."

"Well I'm all done here," Molly said as she put a few pieces of tape around the base of his drain. "Mom's waiting outside the room to see you. Dr Freedman is delivering your packing to the currier. I was going to, but he insisted that he see it gets in the right hands. I'm not exactly sure where Dr Winchester went – he said something about partaking in the most inadequately edible feast in all of Boston."

Hawkeye chuckled weakly, "I would bet you a dime that he's in the cafeteria."

"Probably," Molly smiled. "Should I send Mom in? She bought a deck of cards from the gift shop."

"Sure kid. She probably wants to beat me at Gin Rummy. We played cards a lot in Korea in the Winter, when it was too cold to – uh well I just leave that sentence hanging. This is your old lady we're talking about."

"Yes, please don't finish," Molly laughed. "Just press the buzzer if you need anything. Your fluid bag should be good for a while now."

As the younger Bigelow left the room, the older, more familiar one entered with a pack of cards in hand, and a determined look on her face.

"I hear that you're ready to lose at cards?" Hawkeye greeted Shelley. "Same rules as always? For every game lost, the loser has to lose an article of clothing."

Bigelow rolled her eyes dramatically as a joke, as she sat down in the chair to the right of him.

"There's the Hawkeye I know."

* * *

Margaret decided to sit in her office try to compose herself by doing some routine paperwork, after the incident at lunch. She decided to collect herself before seeking out Charles. If she came at him lock, stock and barrel - he'd undoubtedly harp that he had no idea what she was talking about.

As her hand automatically filled out the information, she debated with herself whether or not Trapper's comment about Winchester, was just him running off at the mouth or not.

She was so deep in thought that she didn't even hear the on duty unit clerk knock on her window the first time. It was only when the young girl let herself into her office that Margaret came back to reality. She swivelled around in her office chair to face the door

"I am sorry to interrupt Nurse McIntyre, but there is a Dr Freedman is waiting outside to speak with you."

Margaret's jaw dropped slightly in surprise. What on Earth was Sidney doing in Boston?

"Alright, send him in."

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, in an attempt to calm her racing heart. She opened them only seconds later at the sound of an old friend's voice.

"Margaret."

"Sidney… what brings you to Boston?" Margaret tried to put on as normal an act as possible. "Please have a seat."

Sidney glanced at the matching orange leather office chair she was gesturing to in the far right-hand corner of the room. He did not oblige walked towards her.

"I'm afraid I can't, today. I am just here to deliver this to you."

Margaret accepted the brown package from him, staring at it suspiciously.

"What is this…?"

"It's from a mutual friend."

"Who? What's going on Sidney?" Margaret could hear the own fear in her voice. That fact that there was no return address was alarming.

"I have to go back to our sick friend now, Margaret. Please take some time and look over the contents of the package. If you have any questions, you can come and find me on the second floor room 7B. It was good to see you again." Sidney simply explained before she showed himself out of the office.

Once the door clicked shut, Margaret got up and closed the blinds on her office window and door. That was the signal to her staff that she was not to be disturbed. After taking her seat again, she tore open the package to find a sealed envelope. A square, brown paper wrapped item which was most likely 45" phonograph, was also included.

She felt her hands uncharacteristically shake, as she slit open the top of the envelope with a metal letter opener. After she had pulled out, and unfolding the contents, Margaret took a deep breath. She then flipped over the stack of stationary and began to the large letter.

" _To the one whom I love,"_

* * *

Charles was looking over Hawkeye's latest lab results at the nurse's station when he heard three pairs of footsteps, and the distinctive shuffle of a walker come down the hallway.

"Winchester," the gruff voice of his long-ago boss made him turn around.

A small smile spread across his lips at the sight of Sherman Potter. Sure the Colonel looked far older than when they had said their goodbye's on the last day of Korea. White, thinning hair, liver spots and the walker were certainly different. However, the look of wisdom and bullheaded determination in Potter's steely eyes remained the same.

Beside the Colonel, on his left, was none other than the Iowa native, Radar O'Reily. On Potter's right was a teary eyed, Maxwell Klinger.

"Gentleman," Charles acknowledged the other two men's presence. "It's so decent of you to have come this far."

"I hope we're not too late. We hopped on a plane as fast as humanly possible. We all ended up on a connecting flight to Chicago." Klinger added in.

"No, no you're not to Gentlemen. Hawkeye is awake and is playing cards with Sidney and Bigelow right now."

"Bigelow," Potter said as he furrowed his brow. It suddenly came to him why that name was familiar. "You mean Shelley Bigelow from the 4077th? Nobody has heard or seen her since Korea! What in tarnation is she doing here?"

"Well, that's quite the story. You should as Hawkeye – I'm sure he'd be elated to regale you with the tail."

"Why don't you boys go on ahead, and let Hawkeye know that we're here. I want to have a chat with Winchester," Potter said to Klinger and Radar.

"Alright," Klinger replied. The look of dread of seeing their old war buddy in a hospice bed was evident his face, as well as Radar's.

"He's in Room 7B, just around the corner," Winchester informed them.

"Thanks," Radar whispered before he and Klinger headed down the hallway.

Once Potter was sure that they were out of ear shot, he piped up. "Are those his labs?"

"Yes."

"Put them on the counter sonny. I'm as old as a brass spittoon so I need to keep both hands on this walker."

Charles obliged and set them down in from of the old doctor. He spoke up after a few moments when he noticed that Potter's eyes were at the end of the page.

"His liver function is deteriorating by the hour."

"It looks like he'll have a few hours before he slips into a coma, judging by his blood chemistry," Potter stated what both men knew.

"You made it just in time. I'm afraid," Charles found himself choking back tears, "I'm afraid he won't see the morning."

Colonel Potter looked down at his feet and nodded. He knew that the coming hours were going to be trying for all everybody, as they had to say goodbye finally to Hawkeye.

* * *

As Klinger and Radar made their way down the long hallway, to the corner where Charles had said Hawkeye's room was – they both felt more anxious than they had since being in Korea.

"Did you get a letter from Hawkeye too?" Radar blurted out the question he had been dying to ask his comrade since they had accidently met in front of a McDonald's stand by their airport gate in Chicago.

"Yes. I'm assuming that you did too?"

"Yeah… gee I was so torn up when I had got it. I couldn't believe that he didn't even want me to be there to say goodbye. I know Hawk's had his problems, but at the end, he was still my best friend in Korea." Radar let off what had been on his chest for more than a day.

"I know what you mean kid. Hawkeye didn't have a hope in hell of ever coming back from losing his dad and then Margaret. Some of the things he did for me in Korea though, I'll never forget." Klinger agreed to Radar's nostalgic sentiment.

"I was so happy when I had gotten my call from Sidney, telling me where Hawk was, and what was going on."

"Me too, Radar… me too."

* * *

"And Gin!" Hawkeye triumphantly announced as he threw down his cards onto the night table beside him.

"Oh, I don't believe this. This is the seventh game in a row that you've won!" Bigelow exclaimed.

"Well call it a dying man's luck," Hawkeye chuckled.

"I don't even know why I'm playing anymore honestly," Sidney said aside, in a joking manner as he totalled up their scores on the notepad in front of him.

"Did Fraud ever write anything about what it means to be a poor sport, Sid?" Hawkeye teased.

Before Sidney could reply, the sound of Klinger clearing his throat brought all three's attention to the doorway.

"What the…" Hawkeye was speechless. He began to wonder if he had died, because why the hell were all these people from his past suddenly in his hospital room.

Was he sentenced to a purgatory where he was made to feel like he was dying over and over again, and for some cruel reason all the people he had hurt were there to pity him? Or maybe they were there to tell him what a failure he was on Earth.

"How the hell did you know that I was here?" Hawkeye's raised his voice. However, his tone sounded more scared than angry. He turned to look at Sidney, "What's going on here?"

Before Sidney could answer, the distinct clomping of metal became apparent from the hallway. Both Klinger and Radar stepped aside, allowing the aged Colonel to shuffle inside, followed by Charles.

"Sherman?" Hawkeye gaped.

"Charles, you're my physician. What the hell is going on? Am I hallucinating?" The childlike vulnerability Hawkeye felt deep inside, was ever present in his voice.

"Hawkeye," Sidney began to speak, but Charles cut him off.

"You can blame me for these three being here Pierce. I must admit that I was so moved by your letter to me, and after speaking with Sidney about all of the other letter's you've written – I called the Sherman, Walter and Max." Charles made sure he was careful to mention the two missing people in the room; BJ and of course Margaret. "If you must be upset with someone, be upset with me.

The twinkle in Sidney's eye when he turned around to glance at Charles, was all the thanks that Charles needed for telling his white lie.

Time seemed to stand still, and Hawkeye stared at Charles, with narrowed eyes. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Charles…" Hawkeye's gravelly voice sounded uncharacteristically serious, "I could never be mad at you." He paused to gaze into the each of the eyes, of his loved ones, before repeated what he had written each of them in their personal letters. "I know that you did not have to be here. I know how much I have hurt each of you. I know that I've done this to myself… I love you all."

A few moments of heavy, reflective, silence was broken by, Potter. "Yes, we did have to be here. What in tarnation are you talking about? Remember that time in 52', when my lumbago was acting up, but I refused to eighty-two myself and park my caboose in bed? If you weren't around, who knows what kind of damage I would have done to my body. And what about all those times you barged into my tent and office, to force me to talk about why I was acting like such a concrete-headed jackass, every time Mildred and I would have problems. There are many a time when I am alone, that I thank you for ensuring that my marriage survived through the years of my third and final war."

"Jeez Hawk, you brought Henry, Max, Owen, Verona, Timothy and Cathy into this world." Radar piped up. "There was no other doctor in Ottumwa, Iowa, the States, or even the world, that I would have trusted to bring my children into the world! You were the one that taught me about life and such while in Korea. Your lessons in the art of getting a woman to like you in that special way, is the reason that I had the confidence to talk to Patty in that hanger at Kimpo. Now me and Patty have been married for twenty years."

"I remember that you clapped, cheered, and congratulated me the most when Soon-Lee and I got married on the last day at Ole' 4077th. Heck, back in the early days of Colonel Blake, you always ran interference any time Major's Burns and Houlihan came too close to court marshalling me for my antics." Klinger told Hawkeye with gratitude.

"Let's not forget Hawkeye, the time that you operated on my shoulder, and removed my spleen after I fell off of the top of the water tower during that horrid windstorm of 52'. You saved my life that day, and made sure that I didn't get too down while I was recuperating." Bigelow Sr. chimed in.

Hawkeye took a moment to look into the eyes of all his visitors once more. He couldn't help but let a few tears roll down his cheeks. He knew that he had disappointed and hurt beyond belief everyone in the room with him, thanks to his addiction and personal choices – they were all there with him during his final hours.

Maybe he wasn't going to be doomed to hell after all.

"So, Klinger – tell me all about how Soon-Lee's cosmetic boutique is doing? And Radar, what are the kids up too? A few years ago you said that Henry was in Pre-med. Sherman, how is Mildred doing?"

* * *

The group of old friends of visited for almost for hours, before Hawkeye, became exhausted. It was time to change his fluid bags, and besides – the morphine dose that Molly interrupted to administer, had all but put his lights out. He muttered in his old usual, long-winded, rambling way that he had to go to sleep. It had been about an hour since then, and after running a blood chemistry – Winchester had to inform the group solemnly that Hawkeye, had only a few more hours to live.

They all left the tiny hospice room, to allow each member of the group to say their personal goodbyes to their Korean war comrade.

Sidney was the last to say his private goodbyes, to a man that had influenced his life more than any other man ever had. Once he had left, the group re-entered the dimly lit room together to stand and sit around Hawkeye.

It was only a matter of minutes until Hawkeye Pierce was finally free of the demons that had claimed his vitality and life.

* * *

Margaret had not wept as hard as he was since her Father had passed away five years ago.

She had just finished reading Hawkeye's letter. The guilt and undeniable love for Hawkeye that she had been suppressing for so many years had been brought out by his poignant words.

Everything now made sense – Trapper, Bigelow and Sidney. Hawkeye was right there in Boston Mercy.

She ignored the bombardment of questions and demands from the staff in her ward as she stormed out of her office, down the corridor and into the elevator. As the metal carriage lifted her down to the second floor, she tried to collect herself.

Margaret rarely made her way to the second floor. After being in the Nursing Corps for eleven years – hospice was the last ward she wanted to be in. After stopping to ask a familiar looking b nurse at the nurse's station, about a patient named Pierce; she had found her way to Hawkeye's room.

She stopped just outside of the doorway when she saw the group of old friends and loved ones gathered around Hawkeye's bed. There was the hospital Chaplin murmuring some prayer from the bible he was looking at, while his hand was placed on Hawkeye's forehead.

The gasp of disbelief of the sight in front of her alerted the other in the room to her presence. True to her nature – Margaret did not care about what the people in the room thought as she walked up to Hawkeye's bed.

His breath was coming in sharp, shallow spurts. His white hair, jaundice skin, distended abdomen, and dark encircled eyes, shocked Margaret.

The picture before her was what her betrayal, had turned the one whom she loved most, in to. Her shaky, teary breaths, matched her trembling hands.

It would be a lie to say not that everybody on some level, was shocked by Margaret's presence at the side of her ex-husband's deathbed.

Margaret didn't second guess her actions as she lowered the metal side bars of his bed, and crawled in beside Hawkeye. She lifted his head so that it was resting on her shoulder and began to run her nimble, long fingers through his hair. She closed her eyes and whispered the words into his ear, that she now knew he had needed to hear for years.

"I'm so sorry Hawkeye, for all the pain I've caused you. I just didn't know how to handle your drinking anymore. Myself, Sidney, Colonel Potter, Radar, Klinger, Bigelow, and Charles are all here. It's time for your suffering to end. I hope that you will be waiting for me. It's time go Hawkeye. I love you, and I always will. "

A few moments later, Benjamin _"Hawkeye"_ Franklin Pierce, passed away surrounded by those whom he loved, and in the arms of the one he loved the most.

* * *

 **A/N: So there it is. Hawkeye is finally dead...**

 **I'm sorry for the delay but it literally took me this long be happy with these 5000 + words.**

 **There is the epiloge following this which is about 90% written.**

 **Thanks so much for reading my story and please review. I really hope that this chapter did justice to the narrative I have set for this story...**

 **I look forward to hearing from you, and thank you so much for reading.**


	12. Goodbye Hawkeye

Margaret had no idea what time it was. All she knew was that it was sometime after 3:17 am, which is when Winchester announced Hawkeye's time of death. She hadn't heard anybody punch in or out, at the time clock beside her office door, so it wasn't 7:00 am, yet.

After Hawkeye had breathed his last breath; she planted one final, delicate kiss on his chapped lips. She gently laid his head down on the pillow and slipped out of bed. Margaret avoided the looks of her old M*A*S*H colleagues and walked out of the hospital room without looking back.

She was in a state of shock at what had just happened. The only thing she could do was to sit in her office at the hospital until it wore off.

Going home was out of the question. She could not believe that Trapper had known about Hawkeye's condition of over a day, and hadn't said a single word to her. Yes, the part of her life with Hawkeye in it had long since passed – but that didn't mean that she still did not care about him. The betrayal Margaret felt would not fade away easily, or quickly.

Margaret had lost count of how many times she had re-read the letter Hawkeye had written to her. Her eyes were sore and puffy from crying until she couldn't cry anymore.

Under different circumstances, she would have tucked into the bottle of cognac that Winchester had given her at the last Christmas party in a heartbeat. However, the thought of a drink revolted her to no end. Margaret knew that the image of the pained look on Hawkeye's prematurely aged, and jaundice face as he breathed his last breath, was forever burned into her mind. She wondered if she'll ever be able to have a drink again without picturing Hawkeye in that damned hospital bed.

The rattling of the doorknob startled Margaret out of her thoughts. Before she could wipe the tears from her eyes, her husband intruded her privacy and stepped into the dark office.

He flicked on the light switch much to Margaret's dismay. She squinted in pain as the fluorescent lights flickered on.

"There you are."

"Turn those off," Margaret pleaded. Her voice was hoarse from crying and dehydration. "And close the door on your way out."

Trapper ignored both requests, and instead walked over to Margaret's desk and stared at the all too familiar handwriting of the letter, spread out on the desk. As he reached out to pick up a page of it – Margaret slapped his hand away.

"Don't you dare touch that," Margaret warned as she got to her feet. She stood close enough to Trapper so that she could smell the minty mouthwash on his breath. She looked him in the eye and told him, "you get the hell out of my office right now."

"Margaret-"

"Stop! I don't want to hear another word from you. How dare you keep a thing like the fact that Hawkeye was in this very hospital, in hospice care." She paused for a moment and walked towards the open door. She placed one hand on the inside doorknob and glared at looked down at her feet, in an attempt to hide the tears welling in her eyes. "I will go home, take the girls to school. Go to your surgery. I won't be home when you get off tonight. I'll take the girls with me."

Trapper nodded, knowing that there was nothing he could say to change her mind. He was just about out of the door but stopped at the last second. He said to Margaret without turning around to face her, "I know that saying that I'm sorry will do no good. He hurt you so much, Margaret. I was only trying to protect you from the heartache you're feeling right now. Whatever you decided to do, just remember that I love you and that our girls love you too."

After a few moments of heavy silence, Margaret swung the door shut. She flicked off the lights, leaving only the lamp on her desk lit, like before Trapper had disturbed her.

She walked over to the record player on her the filing cabinet, picked up the player's arm, and let the needle fall into the groove's of the phonograph Hawkeye had given her. After reading the letter the first time, she had ripped off the wrapping of the single record. Once she had read the title of the song – she didn't have the courage to listen to the words of the song.

Tears fell down her cheeks silently, as she listened to the words of George Jones' – _A Picture of Me Without You_.

" _Imagine a world where no music was playing_

 _Then think of a church where nobody's praying_

 _If you've ever looked up at a sky with no blue_

 _Then you've seen a picture of me without you_

 _Have you walked in a garden where nothing was growing_

 _Or stood by a river where nothing was flowing_

 _If you've seen a red rose unkissed by the dew_

 _Then you've seen a picture of me without you_

 _Can you picture Heaven with no angels singing_

 _Or a quiet Sunday morning with no church bells ringing_

 _If you've watched as the heart of a child's breaks in two_

 _Then you've seen a picture of me without you..."_

* * *

Five Days Later:

A dark oak casket, adorned with a wreath of red and white roses sat on a leather lift, above a six-foot-deep grave.

The local pastor was reading a verse from the new testament, while the handful of people who came by to say goodbye to _"Hawkeye"_ Benjamin Franklin Pierce.

It was a warm autumn morning in Crabapple Cove. There was a slight breeze that rustled the orange, yellow, red and brown leaves of the maple trees that dotted the grounds of the old cemetery, which lay beside the Methodist Church.

Sidney, Colonel Potter, Radar, Klinger, and Charles all sat on the wooden fold out chairs in the front row. Everyone was dressed in their best suits, except for Charles. He wore casual slacks and a button-down, pink and green Hawaiian shirt which Hawkeye bought him in 52', which he had only worn a handful of times to parties at the 4077th. His shoes those ludicrous, Velcro sandals that all the trendy hippies were wearing. He, however, kept his lower extremities warm with the thickest pair, of the most expensive argyle socks he owned.

Charles received strange looks from his former comrades in arms when they first saw his attire. He merely explained that his appearance was related to his letter from Hawkeye, and all hostile looks ceased.

Nobody from Crabapple Cove came to mourn Hawkeye. Long ago, he had driven away all his pre-war friends and family. Hawkeye was the town drunk in the community's mind – plain and simple.

Sherman and Sidney took it upon themselves to call up some of the others from the 4077th and let them know about the service. Many declined outright, saying that it had been too long since they were close with Hawkeye, to fly all the way out to Maine.

A few did show up, though. Shelley and Molly Bigelow drove from Boston. Nurse Able and Janet Baker flew out from Michigan together. Kelley Nakahara broke down when she received Sidney's call and true to her word – she was there to say goodbye to "one of the most gifted surgeons she ever knew".

Right before the service has begun, a petite blond, in a knee-length, black lace dress and matching, wide brimmed hat took a seat in the second row of chairs, on the far right. It had been more than ten years since anybody had seen the former Mrs Hunnicutt. Everybody turned around to see if BJ was with her, but he was not.

"Trapper" John McIntyre, stood with his hands folded a fair distance back from the last row of chairs set up. His wife was not at his side.

Margaret and Trapper had not seen each other since the day Hawkeye had passed away. When Trapper had gotten home from surgery that evening, there was no sign of his family – only a note on the kitchen table saying that she needed to spend some time with her younger in Georgia.

As the preacher read through the chosen scripture verses, Hawkeye's loved ones barely listened. They were all lost in memories, both good and bad, of Hawkeye.

When the preacher called upon Sidney to deliver the eulogy, all eyes were upon him. There were birds singing in the background as the morning sun shone down upon the earth. Before beginning, Sidney couldn't help but to glance up at the sky and smile. He wondered if Hawkeye was up there somewhere, listening and watching over all of them as he had promised to in his letters.

"Hawkeye and I had had many long talks about what this moment would look like over the past year. He knew that the demon living inside of him had won the battle and that it wouldn't be long until he left this earth.

Hawkeye was the fastest talking person I ever knew – but he was always an honest man. Even during his darkest hours, he eventually acknowledged and admitted the truth. So, the truth is what I am going to speak about today.

The personal torment that his alcoholism brought upon him, ruled every day of his life after the war – even if he didn't outwardly show it.

We are all here because we wish to remember him in some way. I am happy to say that he had made peace with himself and his decisions before he passed away. He had the blessing of knowing that those whom he loved the most, loved him back.

I don't think that there is any gift in this lifetime, which is more valuable than having that knowledge.

Let the tale of his life serve as a lesson as to how war can destroy a man, even after the last bullet is fired.

I can't help but to ponder about how the war raging in Vietnam right now, is setting young men up for the same fate as Hawkeye's.

May God bless those young men, and may you rest in peace.

Goodbye, Hawkeye."


	13. Epilouge

Ten years later:

He didn't know why he did it, but he just followed what his gut told him to do.

The idea had been in his mind for some time – but the events of forty-eight hours ago had solidified his decision.

A shiver ran down BJ's spine, as he saw his former best friend's name etched in granite. He stood at the foot of Hawkeye's grave and began to speak.

"Hiya Hawk… It's been awhile. I uh," BJ faltered as his lips began to quiver and tears welled in his eyes. "I just came to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you when you needed me the most. After what happened with Peg, I just couldn't forgive you. I didn't understand who you had become. I wish more than ever that you were still here. It's Erin. She likes a drink just like you did – a little too much. Peg and I tried to help her, we did. Sidney even took her into his inpatient program in Miami."

His tears now started to flow freely. No longer holding back the emotions he had bottled up for the past few days; BJ fell to his knees. "There was so much glass and blood on the road... Erin asked for my forgiveness in her last breath, as the paramedics declared her son dead on the driveway of her childhood home. She tried so hard to stay sober Hawkeye. Oh god Hawkeye, I held my baby girl in my arms as she bled to death. "

BJ knelt on his knees and hands on the frozen October grass and wept until there were no more tears left to cry.

As he stood up and wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, the wind picked up. It was as warm as a July breeze on the beach. And just for a second, he felt warm arms around his body. He knew that Hawkeye was in fact not gone. He was watching over BJ and had forgiven him.

Two days later as BJ watched his eldest daughter being laid to rest in a Mill Valley cemetery – he felt looked up and saw Hawkeye Pierce standing where Erin's headstone will be. Unshaven, and in his stained blue and white Hawaiian shirt he stood with the most sorrowful look on his face, as he stared at the cherry oak casket was lowered into the ground.

But standing beside Hawkeye was Erin, dressed in a flowing, green and white summer dress. Hawkeye's arm was around her waist, and her head rested on his shoulder.

As quickly as they appeared – they vanished out of thin air.

BJ couldn't help but smile, for he knew that Hawkeye was keeping his promise, and watching over those whom he loved.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **I apologise that it took me so long after Hawk's death chapter to get these out, but school got in the way as per usual. I also wanted to be 100% satisfied with these chapters.**

 **I hope this last chapter satisfied your questions about BJ's absence (joel shell). This backstory was planned all along.**

 **Thank you to everybody who took the time to read/review this story that turned out to be way more than I ever planned it to be. This story means a lot to me and I really appreciated the feedback. I hope that these final two chapters were a satisfactory conclusion.**

 **Thanks again,**

 **MASHlover23**


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